In a Timely Manner
by Chiara da Luna
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione arranges a vacation at Dover Beach for the Weasleys, herself, and Harry. But even Hermione's spells can go wrong: her portkey breaks, sending half their party to Naomi Novik's world. Captain Will Laurence, his dragon Temeraire, their friends, an early HP character, and my characters Rose and Florenzia help the family reunite and begin healing.
1. Chapter 1

"Hermione, why do we have to close our eyes?" Ron complained.

"It's a surprise. Just keep hold of the portkey with your eyes closed until I tell you."

Various Weasleys sighed.

"Dear, I'm not sure we're ready for surprises," said Molly Weasley. Her voice was still wobbly, the way it had been since she saw Fred's body.

Harry clenched his teeth and kept his eyes shut tight, willing to support Hermione while understanding the Weasleys' reluctance to play. He didn't feel much like playing himself, just after returning from the enormous joint funeral for those who died in the final battle with Voldemort. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin. He forced himself to stop listing them. So many gone, so young. And not as recently, Dumbledore, Sirius. He gripped the old vase harder. The silliest game was better than descending into grief again.

The portkey trip felt different that previous times: a familiar whoosh, then several bumps as though the ether road had potholes, a flash of light he could see through his eyelids, and then trying to stand on shifting ground, like sand. He reached with his other hand to grab Ron, who was staggering too.

"Hermione, can we—" The rest of his words were drowned in her screams.

He opened his eyes. They _were_ standing on sand, or trying to, as their feet sank and shifted. Everyone else must have opened their eyes at the same time, because Ron pulled out his wand at the same time Harry did, and Mrs. Weasley leapt in front of them with her wand in dueling position. Hermione already had her wand out, trembling. Harry assumed that Mr Weasley, George, and Ginny were behind him, but that wasn't nearly as important as the two dragons in front of him.

One was as tall as a building, with a mop of tendrils that reminded him of Lee Jordan's dreadlocks. Harry had never seen a dragon that wasn't willing to eat him, but this one had a dainty appearance, fluttering blue-spotted wings like a butterfly. The other dragon was even larger, gleaming black all over, except for dark blue on the front edge of his wings. His tendrils were neater, and two drooped along the side of his mouth like a Chinese mustache. Neither showed teeth or claws; they looked more puzzled than anything else. When he could spare a glance away from the huge mouths and claws, Harry saw people, seemingly tiny, on the dragons' backs. One scrambled down the side of the blue dragon and approached the wizards. Two more people followed from her dragon and three from the larger one. Up close, Harry saw that she was female a young woman, maybe close to his own age, tall and sturdy, with dark hair and an olive complexion. Though her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and her clothes seemed to be some kind of uniform, she, like her dragon, gave a delicate, feminine appearance. Her followers were a large middle-aged woman and a wisp of a girl, still a teenager. A man in his thirties led the other party of a red-faced young man and another young woman, stocky and blonde. They all wore bottle green jackets, white pants, and boots, with white shirt fronts ranging from frilly to plain.

The first woman stopped in front of the wizards, and said in a voice used to command, "I am Lady Rose Danforth."

"…and also Captain Rose Blakeney," added her dragon.

"…of Florenzia, His Majesty's Aerial Corps," she added with a grand voice that would certainly carry to the back of a hall. "May I present my lieutenants Gardenley and Dane, my colleague Captain William Laurence of Temeraire and his lieutenants Ferris and Roland. I have no idea why there are so many of us to greet you."

The dragon Florenzia lowered her head directly behind her officers. She whispered in tones that the next town could hear, "Because you jumped down to face a possible enemy by yourself. Really, Rose, you must not put yourself in danger."

Temeraire murmured an agreement that sounded like a thunder storm.

"Fiddle!" said Lady Rose. "They are terrified and armed only with little sticks that I could slice with my sword."

Harry took note of the number of swords and pistols. Everyone had at least one of each. He wondered if the disarming spell would work on the whole group, or one only weapon at a time. Neither the dragons nor their people seemed unfriendly, but, as one of his teachers used to bellow, "Constant vigilance!"

"They keep talking like we're not here," complained Ron in a whisper not much softer than the dragons.

"You are a lady, then?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her eyes shining with love for aristocracy and royal families. She lowered her arm to her side but kept her wand pointed.

Hermione, no lover of either, tilted her jaw and raised her wand higher. Ron rolled his eyes and kept his wand in position. Harry did too, but he wasn't sure whom he was aiming at. Despite her sword and pistols, Lady Rose didn't look like a threat, especially when she smiled, as she did now.

Lady Rose said, "Yes, I am the daughter of the Earl of Wexley."

"And Captain Rosabelle Blakeney," said Florenzia, miffed.

"The Fifth Earl, I should say," Lady Rose amended. "My small brother is the present earl."

"I'm so sorry for the loss of your father, "said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes filling with tears.

"And her mother, my captain," growled the dragon.

"Indeed, my mother is the more recent loss." Lady Rose's voice wavered. "We are still in mourning."

Mrs. Weasley could hardly get out the words. "You have my deepest sympathies. My own son was lost in battle. We are just come from his funeral."

Captain Laurence spoke for the first time. He was pleasant-looking rather than handsome, medium tall with his blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail that was sure to earn Mrs Weasley's censure. "I am so sorry. There is not one of us here who has not lost someone dear who fought for King and country. We have not heard of a recent battle, but no doubt the couriers will soon bring word. We are happy to offer you shelter or any other assistance that you require. May I ask whom we have the honor of serving?"

Mrs. Weasley drew a deep breath and pulled herself as tall as she could. "I am Molly Weasley, and this is my son Ron, his friends Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, and…" She looked behind her and screamed, "Arthur! Where is he? Where's Ginny? Where's George?" Where's…" She choked on tears as she recalled where Fred was.

"This is all my fault!" cried Hermione. "What could I have done wrong? I practiced several times." She picked up the vase—half of it—where it had fallen in the white sand. "Oh, no! It's broken! Where's the other part? I never heard of a portkey breaking. I'm so sorry I've ruined it, Mrs. Weasley. I don't know how it happened."

They collapsed against each other in tears, leaving Ron and Harry to awkwardly pat the nearest shoulder.

"You have lost some of your party then?" asked Lady Rose.

"Yes," sobbed Hermione. "Where could they be? I meant it for a treat, something to make us happier after the funerals. I set up a portkey to take us all to Dover Beach for a holiday, all of us at the Burrow, and we could call Charlie, Bill, and Fleur to join us after we arrived, if we wanted to stay longer. I'm sure my parents won't mind my using a bit of my education funds. I chose this vase because it had so many little handles, one for everyone to hold on to."

"I'm sure I don't care about the vase," cried Mrs. Weasley. "Such a horrid old thing, even if it is an heirloom. George and Fred broke it over Ron's head when they were small." She paused to cry some more over Fred. "I made them earn money to buy the glue to repair it, so that they shouldn't think everything could be fixed with magic. You see, it broke along the same lines. But where are Arthur, George, and Ginny?"

"Indeed, 1 do not understand one word in three, "said Lady Rose. "But we are also separated from our party."

"Only Isquierka, "said Florenzia. ''And nobody minds that."

"Indeed, "agreed Temeraire. "There was big flash of light and a great disturbance in the air. Florenzia and I dropped below it, as would anyone with any sense, but Isquierka took off above and beyond without a backwards glance, though she is our formation leader.

Florenzia sniffed. "Temporarily.''

"Perhaps she is gone for good,'' said Temeraire. The two dragons seemed cheered by the prospect.

"As she is carrying Granby and other friends, I trust not," said Captain Laurence.

Temeraire conceded, ''Oh, very well. I should not like anything to happen to Granby, as he was in my crew, and I do not think Isquierka looks after him properly. Let me lift you up, Laurence, and we will go look for her."

''You do not need me to take a wide sweep of the area. I will stay here," said Laurence. "Roland, you take charge of the search."

Temeraire agreed, ''Very well, if Florenzia will swear to defend Laurence as her own."

"I will," promised the smaller dragon, with a fierce glance at the wizarding party.

Temeraire waited only for her promise before picking up Lt. Roland and placing her on his back. After she settled herself, he leapt into the air and soared.

Harry caught his breath at the beauty of the 20-ton dragon, graceful as a bird. Temeraire never flew out of sight, making a wide circle around the party, gliding over the water with hardly a flap of his wings, diving close enough to touch the waves.

''Now that is too bad of him," said Florenzia, indignant. "He is getting himself a snack."

Lady Rose patted her dragon's side. "If he does not bring something back for you, you may do the same before we return to the covert."

''Excuse me, m'a am," began Hermione.

''My lady," corrected Mrs Weasley in a whisper.

''My lady," Hermione obliged, but grudgingly. "But do you know where we are? I meant for us to go to Dover Beach."

'That is where you are," said Lady Rose. "The town is perhaps a mile away."

Hermione's brows drew together as she tried to puzzle out the problem.

Harry felt sick at his stomach. He began to suspect that the problem was larger than mere geography. Captain Laurence had several times mentioned a king, and as far as Harry, knew, Britain had a queen, a nice old lady who often appeared on TV to wave at her subjects. He'd been preoccupied lately, but surely someone would have mentioned if the queen's son had finally ascended the throne. With a growing sense of dread, he asked, ''Could you tell us please when is it? I mean, what day and year?"

With an odd look at him, Captain Laurence answered, "The 8th of November in the year of Our Lord 1813.

"What!" shouted Ron.

Hermione gasped in horror.

Mrs Weasley fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron and Hermione were standing close enough to his mother to catch her before she hit the sand. Harry ran to the water's edge to scoop with the broken half of of the vase.

Lady Rose gave him an abstracted smile of thanks as she took the makeshift container and dipped her handkerchief in it. She dabbed the wet, salty, sandy cloth on Mrs. Weasley's forehead while Lieutenant Emily Roland chafed her hands. Harry stepped back, feeling that Mrs. Weasley had enough nurses, especially with Lady Rose's dragon craning her neck down close to see better.

Mrs. Weasley stirred and forced her eyes open, as though the lids were concrete blocks.

"Oh, she is better," exclaimed Florenzia with an open-mouth smile.

And at the sight of rows of teeth, each as big as her hand, close enough to touch, Mrs. Weasley fainted again. With tact, Lady Rose suggested that everyone step back to let the afflicted woman have air. Harry did so too, though already some distance from the others. He was then the first to see Temeraire's return.

Temeraire looked like he'd acquired a long red and violet kite of tail flapping behind him. As Temeraire approached, Harry could see that the tail was a second dragon.

The wizards drew closer together, surrounding the groggy Mrs Weasley. The new dragon was even scarier than the other two, though smaller. It—she—looked like an enormous garden snake, and steam constantly poured out her mouth and various holes on her back.

They could hear her scolding Temeraire during landing, but he cut her off to say to the wizards, "I did not see your family, but I found Iskierka, our formation leader." Even he seemed to think it a poor exchange.

"Temporarily." Florenzia sniffed.

"As I am the formation leader, you should have followed me," insisted Iskierka, with another burst of steam.

"As you dove into the explosion with a complete disregard for your crew and us, I am sure we had no such obligation," said Temeraire.

"Without a backward glance," agreed Florenzia. "We, without consultation, dropped below and flew wide. There is much to be said for age and experience in leadership positions. And we have been able to assist these distressed travelers." She turned to the wizards. "You will want dinner and a bed for the night soon. I offer you the hospitality of my pavilion."

"But we cannot leave this place! What if my husband and other children should arrive?" Mrs. Weasley struggled to her feet, all the more difficult in the shifting sand.

"I didn't put timing in the portkey," said H, her eyebrows tangled in worry. "I'm sure of it. We should have arrived all together on Dover Beach."

"Then we have to look for them." Ron declared, clutching his mother's arm tighter until she wiggled out of his grip.

Harry wondered how they could search through time, but he kept quiet, with everyone already upset.

Temeraire said, "You cannot search for them as you are. You are not dressed as other people. It would, at least, be remarked on. Laurence, shall we send crew members to Dover to ask about strangers and search in nearby villages and farmhouses? We can leave word everywhere so that your family may find you easily, and you may come back to the covert with us."

"I am the formation leader. I will make the decisions," Iskierka stormed, accented by puffs of smoke.

"Oh, will you?" asked Temeraire, with a flick of his long black tail. "Then what is your plan?"

After a few more puffs, Iskierka admitted, "It is a good plan."

"And because you are formation leader, you can send your crew to search," said Florenzia. "I will carry our guests as I have the most room, with so few of my crew aboard. But I am not sure that I have enough straps."

Iskierka not having thought of a comeback, she directed her crew to study the Weasleys and memorize the differences cited by Ron and Mrs Weasley. With a long-suffering sigh, Iskierka allowed her midwingman to join Captain Laurence's crew in handing over spare sets of straps to the travelers.

When he looked closer, Harry saw that straps consisted of a leather harness with two leashes ending in carabiners. He was the first one to put them on correctly, and after asking permission, Florenzia picked him up and set him on her back. The crew showed him where to latch his carabiners to Florenzia's harness.

Ron and Mrs Weasley came up together, hugging Florenzia's claws as they both exclaimed how they wished Charlie were here. That left only Hermione, twisting the long leads in her hands. The wind lifted her bushy hair as though it were electrified, making her look even more terrified than her pale face and pursed lips. Born into a Muggle family, she had excelled in every area of magic except flying. Harry remembered how she had shivered and clutched him when they rode Buckbeak the hippogriff and during their one dragon ride.

"Come on, Hermione," shouted Ron as Hermione backed away from Florenzia's reaching forehand. "She's tame as anything-it's not like last time."

"We prefer the word civilized," said Florenzia. "But the meaning in this instance is the same. We will try not to hurt you."

Captain Laurence approached Hermione. He extended his arm, bent at the elbow. "Miss Granger, if you would like to take my arm, you may close your eyes while Florenzia picks us both up."

Harry could see Hermione's whispered thanks and her white knuckles as she grabbed Captain Laurence's arm. As Florenzia scooped them up, Captain Laurence said, "My first dragon ride was on an infant Temeraire, hunting for his dinner over the sea, with no harness to speak of."

"This isn't my first time to ride a dragon," said Hermione with a quaver in her voice. "But it was wild and furious. Blind, too. Fortunately it couldn't tell that we were on its back, and we slipped off when it flew down to a river."

"This will be much better," Laurence assured her with a smile as he fastened her carabiners. "You might care to put your legs beneath the harness strap to hold you even tighter."

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley tried to maintain modesty as they wiggled their legs under the harness they were sitting on. Harry started to put his legs under the harness too, but gave it up when he noticed that none of the crew did so.

Temeraire picked up his captain and placed Laurence in his proper position. Florenzia crouched for a second before taking off. Harry's stomach plunged as she launched into the air, but no more than it had for riding any other magical creature.

Temeraire loomed behind, huge and black like a gathering storm. Harry decided to look anywhere else. But he scarcely had time to marvel at the green countryside beyond the beach before Florenzia started her descent. Her goal was a settlement full of dragons. Only when they drew closer could they see people, even more numerous than dragons. Sounds and scents rose from the ground the closer they came.

"Mm. Chinese tonight," said Ron, inhaling deeply.

Florenzia sniffed, savoring the aroma. "Yes, indeed. One of my favorites. I see that Gong Su is directing the dragons' dinner this evening."

The smell of the biggest Chinese buffet ever permeated the air, growing stronger as they passed over long ditches surrounded by many cooks in Chinese clothing. They were throwing chunks of meat as big as they were into the stew.

Ron cast a worried look at Harry and leaned forward to call to Florenzia in a loud, fearful voice, "Do you eat people?"

"No, do you?" Florenzia called back. "Or perhaps you eat dragons?"

"Of course not," replied Ron, indignant. He opened his mouth as though to say something else but then shut it tight. He met Harry's eyes with a guilty expression. Harry knew his friend was remembering all the dragonhide clothing that wizards wore when they could get it and the dragonhide gloves they used in Potions class.


	3. Chapter 3

As Florenzia glided closer to the ground, Harry squinted at a group of dragons moving together in a stylized, synchronized gestures. They appeared to be in a courtyard, circled by buildings.

"What are those dragons doing?" Ron tried to ask in an undertone, though with the wind and the approaching clamor, he had to shout.

"Ballet," Hermione shouted back.

Harry had to agree, after dredging up arts appreciation concerts from his days in Muggle school. Dragons, ranging from half of Temeraire's size to the size of a horse—very small for dragons—danced to the rhythm beat by one blue and green middleweight dragon holding a small tree as a cane. She shouted directions and criticisms through a kind of megaphone.

"Papagena 3, your entrance was two beats late," she bellowed.

"Act 2, Scene 10, Dance of the Papagenos," said Lady Rose. "The dragons are presenting Mozart's _Zauberflote_ for their subscription party. You will hear-and see—much rehearsal until then."

" _The Magic Flute_!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "How my husband and I love that." She fell silent and bowed her head.

"I hope you will attend our party if you should happen to remain with us," shouted Lady Rose. "This year promises to be something truly spectacular, with dragon artwork and writings as well as music."

Harry and Ron exchanged startled looks. They'd barely had a chance to get used to dragons talking. They got a closer look at the ballet as Florenzia touched down in the enormous courtyard. Although most of the buildings had only a floor and a roof, each had enough gravitas to be a seat of government or a cathedral. Suddenly Harry felt like a Lego figure, lost in the Dursey's living room. He was surrounded by 20-30 ft one-story structures, mostly without walls. You could have dropped a Quidditch scoring area in any one them for a good practice session. Most were made of handsome red brick, a few of irregular stones, but the one by Florenzia was bounded by noble marble columns. A few stairs, also marble, wide as the structure itself, led to the main floor, an interesting parquet pattern of dark and light woods. Harry wondered what the cluster of large copper bowls set at floor level were for. One was full of water and close enough to the steps that Florenzia could extend her neck and drink from it, and several smaller ones held plants, their yellow and orange flowers fading with autumn's descent, but there were several other large bowls, currently empty. The evening breeze wafted through the area, because most of the structures were open, without walls. Florenzia's pavilion had a row of rooms on opposite sides, with the front and back open to the weather, though Harry could see screens folded behind the columns, to close in the main room when necessary.

Florenzia's feet had no sooner touched ground than a pair of small boys, not old enough for any school, came tearing up to her. They placed themselves by each of her shoulders and jumped up and down while shouting not quite in unison to Mummy (presumably Lt. Gardenley) and Sissy (Lady Rose). Gardenley, who looked as though she could conquer a battalion or three by herself, frowned, suddenly bewildered and hesitant. She looked to Lady Rose. "Did you understand any of that?"

The boys continued to jump while they waited for an answer, with just a few punctuations of "Please."

Lady Rose nodded. "I believe so. We shall see. Basil, as you have straps and Requiescat has a harness, you may go for a ride on him, if Nurse Meggy goes with you and you mind her. You may spend the night at Tom's house, but you must thank Captain Harcourt for a lovely visit and give her my compliments."

The boy nearest Lady Rose took off running towards a red and gold dragon on the edge of compound, the biggest beast yet, though he lay with his head on the ground, apparently for the convenience of small boys. One, presumably Tom, had already scrambled up into the captain's position.

Lady Rose called after her brother. "And you are not to take advantage of your position."

At this point, he looked back, outraged. "Then whatever is it for?"

Lady Rose sighed and said by way of introduction. "Our uncle and aunt have allowed my brother Basil, the Earl of Wexley, to visit. He perhaps feels the distinction too strongly."

"Meggy will pound it out of him," said Gardenley. To her son she said, "If you mind Captain, that is, Nurse Meggars, you have permission likewise, James, though you have no position to take advantage of."

"I'm bigger than him," said James. "I'll darken his daylights if he comes the lord over me." And he was off, shouting to his friends to wait.

"Don't do that either," his mother called after him.

Hermione sat in place, frozen. "How big do dragons get?" she asked in a trembling, high-pitched voice. She gasped as Florenzia indicated a golden behemoth strolling behind the dancers (with the blue and green leader shouting at him for treading on their stage and spoiling the blocking). His amiable expression didn't quite make up for the effect of a tail that ended in spikes or claws longer than a person's arm. Harry guessed his weight at 30 tons, bigger even than the red-gold monster claimed by the young boys.

"Do not mention it around the Regal Coppers like Requiescat and Maximus, but Kulinghile really is the largest," said Florenzia. "And the most fearsome in battle, with those claws and tail, unless you count Temeraire's Divine Wind. Are you quite ready for me put you down? The heavy weights kindly let me eat with them because of my injury last spring, but really, no one gets enough to eat if Kulinghile gets there first."

Ron stood up and stretched his hand to Hermione as he edged toward her. She shook her head and scrambled out from under the harness. She wobbled getting to her feet, and her face went whiter, but she thrust her chin high. "If those little boys can ride a dragon, surely I can at least step into Florenzia's hand without help."

Florenzia reached back as far as she could, and Hermione inched forward, never lifting her feet. Ron shrugged and moved forward so that he could ride down with Hermione and his mother. He waved Harry forward; there was room for all of them in Florenzia's forehand.

"That is how we overcome our fear," said Lady Rose as she unlocked her carabiners. "And we all must do so, whether at age 7, when most children join the service, or later, though aviator's children endure it much younger. My earliest memory is quaking while my mother and Florenzia landed at Wexley, with my nurse threatening to throw me in the duck pond if I showed any fear. Nothing since—not weapons training, actual fighting, or anything—has frightened me nearly as much as those first rides."

A young girl, maybe the age of a Hogwarts second year, ran up to Lt. Gardenley as she climbed down and dropped to the ground, a signal for the rest of the crew to do likewise. The girl wore a long shell-pink gown, with pearly buttons high to her throat. She'd attempted to restrain her curly walnut-colored hair with a fat pink ribbon. Her hair snarled down her back as though it couldn't think of anything else to do. She put her arms around the lieutenant. "Mama! You have returned!"

Gardenley made an awkward attempt to return the embrace, but she said, almost scolding, "You'd think we went to the Antipodes, instead of just a routine, abbreviated patrol."

"But anything could have happened!" protested her daughter.

"Well, it didn't. Mostly. Nothing fatal, anyway." To the rest of the company,the lieutenant said, "M'daughter Vi." To the girl, she added as she strode across the pavilion to a room in the back, "Make yourself useful."

Florenzia set her captain down with great care on the pavilion. Another gawky teen dropped to the ground beside Violet. Lady Rose smiled at them and presented the second one as Cadet Molly Meadows. "We are very happy to have Lt. Gardenley's children visiting us. Young Tom Riley and my brother appreciate a new playmate, and as we prepare for the subscription party, Violet is a great help as a second runner to Cadet Meadows."

Mrs. Weasley did a double take and examined the girl's face. "My goodness, how old are you?"

The cadet flushed. "I am thirteen, which is old for a runner, but I have been…occupied with other studies."

"Cadet Meadows thinks she might like to be a lady's maid," explained Lady Rose. "Other captains hesitated to take her, but she has been very useful to us in many capacities."

Setting back now-proud shoulders, Cadet Meadows announced, "I am Chief Costumier for the opera. And maid to Florenzia and Lady Rose."

"My goodness," replied Mrs. Weasley in a faint voice. "I meant only to marvel at how young you are, to be in any kind of service already, much younger than my daughter, and I thought she was too young to go into battle. So you are runners. What do you do?"

The cadet grinned. "We run. Come on, Vi."

She dashed across the pavilion to a door on the side, Violet right behind her, when Lady Rose called, "Violet, would you see to our visitors while the rest of us change for dinner? Florenzia has the right of it: Neither human nor dragon dinner waits for anyone. Perhaps our guests would like some sherry. Or brandy, given their adventuresome day. "

"Thank you, just some tea would be lovely," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Tea?" Lady Rose blinked. "Certainly, if you like. Violet, you will see to it? And perhaps some digestive biscuits."

As Violet went off to make it so, looking confused, Mrs. Weasley sank onto a sofa in front of the fire. Hermione and Ron took a seat either side of her, and Harry perched on the edge of a nearby chair. The furniture seemed too fancy for the likes of him to sit on, as the Dursleys had often said. He watched the giant-sized ballet, as did his friends. Now it was accompanied by loud clangs from a smithy, and when Harry looked at the source, across the courtyard, behind and the left of the designated stage, he saw workers banging swords and other weaponry into usable form. Harry tried to shut out the sound to avoid the clash between war and art. The dancers were graceful, and Harry thought that occasional flights up into the sky was an improvement over ground-bound dancing.

"Children at war…it is wrong, it must be," Mrs. Weasley murmured, hugging both Ron and Hermione. She shook away the thought and spoke in a low, dreamy voice. "My husband and I saw that opera, _The Magic Flute_ , for our second anniversary, our delayed honeymoon after the First Wizarding War. We always go to Muggle London for our anniversaries, even if it's just supper at a pub some years, but we go to the opera whenever we can save enough for it. Arthur is always fascinated with all the stage effects the Muggles make, completely without magic."

Harry thought she sounded like someone at a funeral, reciting memories of the deceased. He'd had a lot of experience with that recently. He wanted to promise her that the family would be reunited soon, but he didn't know how to guarantee that. The looks on his friends' faces showed similar doubts.

Lady Rose and her cadet-maid reappeared, the girl's face scarcely visible over the piles of fabric in her arms. "Meadows and I have found a few dresses for Mrs. Weasley and Miss Granger to wear, if they would like, to avoid comment. I apologize that they are some years out of fashion—from my last Season in London—and my mother never cared much for clothes. So they are not in as good of repair as I should like, but you are welcome to them."

Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased with a dress of a delicate beige that Meadows called "fawn," but Hermione said, "Thank you for your kindness, but you don't need to lend me your fine clothes. Pants like you were wearing would suit me."

Lady Rose looked concerned. "But indeed, wearing trousers is illegal if you are not an aviator."

Hermione looked baffled. She had never cared whether she looked like the other girls or not, but according to Lady Rose, their dress was a matter of law. Hermione looked sideways at the doors opening on both sides of the pavilion. Some of the crew emerged, now transformed into young women in long dresses, ruffled around the neck and hem. Now Harry truly felt like he'd dropped into history, or at least a historical wing at Madame Tussaud's Waxworks. Hermione accepted the striped muslin dress with some reluctance and followed Mrs. Weasley into Lady Rose's room, Violet and Cadet Meadows behind them.

Lady Rose looked like she was about to speak to Ron and Harry when Captain Laurence climbed the pavilion steps. He was accompanied by a young man with arms full of men's clothes. Harry and Ron exchanged worried looks.

"My crew has gathered some clothes that may fit the young men," said Laurence with a smile at Lady Rose. "We thought you might be lacking in men's clothes. And Ensign Adams can valet them."

"Flirts with everybody, doesn't he?" whispered Ron.

"Thank you very much," said Harry, trying to drown out Ron's words.

With a grateful smile, Lady Rose pointed out a room for the boys to change in, the same room they would sleep in. Harry thought it best to go along with the change in clothing. He had a new pair of pants, shirt, and jacket, but each had subtle and not-so-subtle differences from what he was used to, such as buttons instead of zippers and wide, blousey sleeves to squash into a tight jacket. The shirts were also much longer than Harry and Ron were used to. Their valet explained that was so the shirt, carefully wrapped, could double as underwear, which appalled Ron. But the real sticking point was the tie, or cravat. Of course, Harry and Ron were used to coping with their school ties, but these were a foot wide and six feet long. Both boys gave up and let Ensign Adams arrange them, which consisted of so much doubling and wrapping that Ron whispered as they returned to the main room, "I can't turn my head."

More people had arrived in the pavilion, but not everyone had turned into a historical fashion plate. Some aviators remained in their bottle-green jacket uniforms and white pants, noticeably Lt. Gardenley, and she hailed two women approaching the pavilion. "Ha, Roland, they're at it again."


	4. Chapter 4

One of the women was young Lt. Roland, one of Temeraire's officers. She just grinned as she mounted the steps and headed for Lady Rose's room. Her companion was tall as Hermione and whip-cord thin, closer to Mrs. Weasley's age than her children's. Actually, when Harry looked harder, he thought the new arrival might be closer to Captain Laurence's age, despite her short black hair shot with silver and the care lines etched in face, emphasized by a slashing scar across one eye. Harry tried not to stare at another reminder that this was a military base, despite the ruffles and long dresses and dancing dragons.

She did acknowledge Lt. Gardenley's greeting; apparently her name was Roland also, probably Lt. Roland's mother, from the resemblance between them, despite the younger woman's blonde hair. The feminine crew, led by Lady Rose, curtseyed to this new visitor. Captain Laurence and Ensign Adams bowed. After exchanging glances, the four wizards rose and also attempted curtseys and bows. Lt. Roland, now resplendent in a violently yellow dress over an apple green skirt, rejoined them and made her own deep curtsy.

"Now you've got everyone doing it, Rose," complained the new Roland. "Et tu, Emily?"

"Just practicing to be hostess for the subscription party," said her daughter. "Would you rather take my place?"

"You didn't mind when those men from the ministry were here," replied Lady Rose.

"I do appreciate anything that throws their lordships off-balance. And I am not going to get myself up like _that_ for a party or any other occasion. Now, what have you done this time, Rose? And how did you manage to do so on a small, routine patrol?"

"Indeed my conscience is clear, and all we have done is give aid to stranded travelers who became separated from their companions. May I present them to you?" Receiving a nod, Lady Rose began the formalities. "Lord Admiral Roland, may I present Mrs. Molly Weasley..."

They each attempted a bow or curtsy as Lady Rose said their names, and the Lord Admiral—Harry could see Hermione trying to puzzle out why a woman was called "Lord"—nodded in response before taking a seat.

Violet sucked in a deep breath that was louder than the whisper she produced: "Lord Admiral, mother, Lady Rose, may I offer you some tea? And digestive biscuits?"

"Curdling our insides with tea at this hour? Thankee, no!" Lt. Gardenley snorted and shook her head.

"They asked for it, mother," whispered Violet as she poured from her teapot with trembling hands. When Mrs. Weasley indicated that she would pour, Violet gave over her burden with relief.

"You may pour me and your mother some of Lady Rose's excellent brandy, for which we thank her uncle," said Admiral Roland. "Ha, Granby, are you part of this travesty too?"

Captain Granby was mounting the steps. "Evening, Admiral, Lady Rose, Laurence, and all. Regret to say we could find no trace of the Weasley family in Dover. But we have left word at the inns, the post office, and the Watch, and they will direct your family to the covert, if they should arrive."

The admiral raised her one working eyebrow as she accepted her brandy, and Lady Rose leaned forward to explain in a low voice.

"But what can have happened?" exclaimed Hermione, setting her teacup down with a clatter. "I had reservations at the Dover Premier Inn East, and we should have all arrived a few yards away from the hotel, out of sight, on the beach. It must be all my fault, but I truly don't know what happened."

"So let me see if I understand the situation," said Admiral Roland. "In addition to fighting a war with the French and their allies and putting on a subscription party that promises to rival Covent Garden, I am hosting time-traveling magicians."

Harry nodded, but he couldn't help noticing the Admiral's skepticism, much more obvious than the polite captains who had rescued them.

Mrs. Weasley clasped her hands until the knuckles turned white. "If you please, my lady, we should not have identified ourselves as wizards, except for the dragons. We thought you must be wizards too, dragons being magical beasts in our time."

"But much different," added Ron.

"Don't tell them they're magic," ordered Admiral Roland. "They've acquired enough elevated opinions of themselves. Singing opera and writing books!"

"Speaking of the books, they were delivered today from the publisher," said Laurence. "My crew has taken a box to the dining hall for distribution. Every dragon is to receive a copy and one to be shared among his crew, if he has one. Or one may be purchased for cost."

"I am happy to hear it. There will be no bearing Excidium if he does not have his copy today," growled the admiral. "But as for our magicians—"

"I do not think they are lying, my lady," said Laurence, smiling at each wizard. His gaze might have lingered on Hermione, who managed a shaky smile back at him.

"They're either lying or mad," snapped Admiral Roland. "You don't believe in magic any more than I do, Laurence."

"We have seen some truly strange things in our travels, though," said Granby with a wince.

"And they were holding some small sticks when we first saw them," added Lady Rose. "I have seen engravings of witches holding such."

"They're called _wands_ ," said Hermione, pulling hers from the little bag that always dangled from her arm. She held the wand in front of her like a candle and whispered in the quiet, cultured voice she brought to her spells, that neither a force of magic or nature dared disobey. " _Lumos_."

Her audience waited with an equal division of politeness and skepticism. Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline in disbelief as the wand remained just a stick of wood. " _Lumos_ ," she insisted.

"Lacking in pep, this show," whispered Granby as nothing happened.

Ron pulled out his wand and pointed at objects around the room, starting with the teapot. " _Wingardium Leviosa_ ," he shouted.

Harry pointed his wand at Ron. " _Expelliaramos_."

If Ron actually managed to move things, there would be clashes. But he didn't, and his wand stayed in his hand.

Mrs Weasley had been casting nonverbal spells, the sign of a superb witch, and when nothing happened, she started muttering her spells, but still unsuccessfully.

Harry jumped to his feet and roared, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Finally he saw the slightest puff of smoke—not his signature stag—but any magical response was welcome. Then Iskierka stuck her head above the pavilion's edge. She gave a few more puffs from her nostrils and other vents as she asked, "Lady Rose, Temeraire and Lily say they are rehearsing the trial scene tonight. I think I should be there also, to practice when to blow flames at them."

Lady Rose stood and went to discuss it with her as Harry sank back down on his chair, feeling like he'd flunked yet another Potions test.

Mrs Weasley had an arm around Ron and Hermione. They pressed against her like frightened first years. Harry just pressed against his chair, hoping to push through it, sure that he looked just as terrified as they did.

"Children," said Mrs Weasley, "I believe we must accept that magic does not work here."

"This is my fault," whispered Hermione. "All my fault."

Ron cleared his throat. "No, it's not. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that you did the spell correctly. When did you ever not? Well, the first time we did Polyjuice, but that was because you had a cat hair, not a human hair. How could you have known? Anyway, it was the nicest—"

Mrs. Weasley hugged Hermione close. "Ron's right, dear. I don't know how it could have been anything you did. But we can sit down tomorrow morning any go over the spell together. I'm sure we're all too tired to think straight tonight. If, that is, Florenzia's offer of shelter still stands. We are quite at your mercy." She lifted her chin and stared in Admiral Roland's eyes.

"If she offered it, I'm sure it does," replied the Admiral. "Florenzia is fond of entertaining. And having drunk her brandy, I shall take myself off to dinner and suggest that you do the same. Having proven that you're not magicians, you're no concern of mine." She stood up to an accompaniment of relieved sighs from her officers.

"Why would we be?" asked Harry, puzzled at the undercurrents between the admiral and Mrs. Weasley.

Admiral Roland sighed. "Some might say that we ought to turn admitted witches and wizards to the authorities for prosecution and burning at the stake, or whatever they do to witches these days. But you aren't magicians. We have seen that. And time travel isn't against the law. So I don't have to decide whether you're delusional on that count. Lady Rose—no, you're in charge of this opera circus, are you not? Captain Laurence, you can take charge of these lost travelers and do whatever you think best, as long as it doesn't interfere with either the cursed war or the cursed opera."

Mrs. Weasley sagged with relief.

Laurence frowned. "By which you mean…"

"I mean, keep them out from underfoot. As they are clearly not magicians, we don't have to report them to any authority. Just as well. But we are at war and raising funds for it too. Find where these people belong, if you can. I do not want to sit down to Christmas dinner with them. But do not let them come to my notice again. I hate having to take notice of things."

Blood pounded in Harry's brain, and the voices around Harry grew faint. After Admiral Roland demanded to know where was this orchestra that she was paying for, and Lady Rose's barely audible reply that they were drowning their terrors in cheap gin, all the voices around Harry became like buzzing insects. He felt very far away, as though he were falling through a tunnel. When Ron growled and jumped to his feet, Harry looked up to see Captain Granby offering an arm to Mrs. Weasley and Captain Laurence doing the same for Hermione. He thought he heard something about dinner, and he staggered to his feet.

"What does he think he's doing?" Ron demanded in an undervoice.

"He's just being polite," Harry said.

"Well, let him be polite to someone else," snapped Ron, stomping to catch up with the others.

Harry trudged behind him, and struggled through the rest of the evening in shock. There were more people, there was dinner, and there were more dragons, surreal as they sang and minced about the designated stage in Florenzia's courtyard. It all was a distant background to the words pounding in his head: Magic doesn't work here, but they can kill us for it anyway. He hadn't felt so helpless since he'd lived the Dursleys.

During evening tea—in this age, tea was served in the evening, not the afternoon, he discovered—Florenzia read poetry that she'd written for the dragon's book, unimaginatively titled _Writings of the Dragons_. The younger crew buried themselves in mountains of black netting as they attached crystals to make Florenzia's Queen of the Night opera costume, and Harry and his friends tried to pretended it was the most normal thing in the world to drink tea made in a copper bowl bigger than a bathtub and heated by a fire-breathing dragon (Iskierka being obliging for once). At last the day was over, and Harry lay on a thin, hard bed and stared into the darkness, real darkness, not city night that always had a twilight about it. When he'd first gone to Hogwarts, the utter dark felt like a soft blanket and helped him sleep, but at the end of six years of horror, he wondered if he'd ever sleep well again. While he was camping, searching for horcruxes, he'd checked the Marauder's Map each night, taking comfort from the dot labeled Ginny Weasley as it moved around Hogwarts, often after bedtime hours, the naughty girl. He'd expect no less from a leader of Dumbledore's Army. When she was not at Hogwarts, he'd think of what she must be doing at home. And now he didn't know where she was, if she was safe, if he'd ever see her again.

The dragons had been rehearsing their opera in the courtyards every since he'd arrived, often different songs at the same time, but now silence fell over the covert, or at least an absence of music. He still heard the shuffling of many large creatures. They seemed to have a common destination on the edge of Florenzia's courtyard. They muttered things like, "Everyone who can sing, come along" "Sopranos on the right, in front," "Don't step on my tail," "It's dark. I can't see."

Then, after a few moments of real silence, they began to sing: "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ave, verum corpus…" They obviously tried to make their voices hushed, but with many of them weighing over 20 tons, there was no danger of not hearing them. The song shimmered through the night air.

No one had ever sung Harry to sleep that he could remember, but he thought this must be what a lullaby sounded like, sweet, pure notes that wrapped you up in a cocoon. The words sounded like spells, reminding him of his first days at Hogwarts, finally safe, finally happy. As he drifted to sleep, the last words he heard were from Ron: "So are the bloody dragons going to sing all bloody night?"


	5. Chapter 5

Ron and Harry woke in the morning to more dragon song, as Florenzia practiced vocal exercises with Lady Rose, who played the piano. The two emerged, blinking and yawning, dressed with most of the buttons fastened in the right place, but cravats just wound around their necks again and again, Harry's tie ending in a big, floppy bow and Ron's tucked in his pants. They found Ron's mother and Hermione pouring over Hermione's spell while Florenzia's two runners sewed more crystal beads on the mountain of netting, larger than it had been the night before.

"Rose's teacher, Signora Catalana, will be here shortly to give me a last lesson before the performance," said Florenzia between key changes. She sang another run up and down the scale, in half-voice, fortunately. "Rose says we should work in front of the musicians' rooms, which makes me very nervous." She sang another run, even higher. "Rose says the orchestra will be properly ashamed to see a woman unafraid of a dragon." She caroled into regions Harry had never heard from a human. "I do not precisely understand that, but Signora Catalana scares _me_. I hope she will be pleased with my progress."

"She is very pleased with your progress," Lady Rose assured her dragon. "She is very strict, because she loves music so much and wants her students to succeed so badly. Good morning, Harry and Ron. Would you like Cadet Meadows and Violet to help tie your cravats? Florenzia has Sunday inspections before chapel, and so they are accustomed to assisting with gentleman's clothing."

The girls left their sparkling mound of netting and attended to the ties. Harry felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment; Ron blushed too. Cadet Meadows explained each step of the way, as though they were toddlers learning to tie their trainers. It might have been helpful instruction, except that Florenzia and Lady Rose returned to their scales and arpeggios.

Lady Rose broke off her music when Captain Laurence joined them. Ron scowled. After greetings were exchanged and breakfast offered, Violet was put to work toasting bread in the fireplace.

Captain Laurence told them of the day's plans. "We have asked the smallest dragons to search the nearby farms and villages," he said. "Can you think of anything else useful?"

"Would there be anyone in London who could help you?" Laurence asked. "We are going to London shortly to deliver props and other necessary baggage for the subscription party."

"Diagon Alley!" shouted Harry, Ron, and Hermione all at once. Ron continued, "Mum knows how to get there, don't you, Mum?"

"Certainly. From King's Cross Station, you go down Charing Cross Road to the crook, where you find the Leaky Cauldron…" Her voice trailed off.

"No trains, Mum," Ron reminded her. "So no King's Cross Station."

Harry fought a now-familiar dread. "Hermione, you listened more in history than any of us. When was that flap over building Charing Cross Road, when they thought it would go right through the Leaky Cauldron?"

Hermione sighed. "1865."

"But the Leaky Cauldron existed before then, even if it wasn't on Charing Cross Road," said Ron.

Lady Rose said, "Perhaps you could find it on a map."

Abandoning her crystal work again, Cadet Meadows dashed off and returned with a map that she unfolded on the table.

After a few minutes of study, Mrs. Weasley pointed to where she thought it was. Hermione thought it was somewhere else, and Harry kept his mouth shut. He disagreed with both of them.

"Perhaps you could see it from the air," Laurence suggested. "Temeraire could carry you there after we unload at the London covert."

Everyone looked more cheerful.

Florenzia's eyes gleamed. "If you are going to London, our new friends must buy some clothes for the subscription party. It is not to be expected that we will have extra sets of evening wear to lend, though we would do so if we did. Some jewelry would not be amiss either. As they are my guests, people will expect to see them handsomely clothed."

"But we have nothing to pay you with," exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. "And, and it is not certain that we will still be here for your party."

"I do hope you will be though. I should be proud to present you to our friends. And it is best to be prepared," the dragon replied, eyes still gleaming with the thought of new treasure

"We could help the runners put crystals on your costume," Hermione offered.

"True, my dear. We could all help," said Mrs. Weasley with steel in her voice. "And if the boys don't want to do that, they could help dig dragon toilets."

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry at the same time Ron said, "Aw, mum."

Florenzia cocked her head to one side, thinking. "Certainly the sanitary crew will appreciate your assistance, and you would be rendering a service, but you would be assisting me more directly if you were to work on the costumes. I promised the small dragons who are out searching that they should have a head scarf to wear as a halo—they are the Blessed Spirits in the opera, you know."

Cadet Meadows gasped and looked ready to burst into tears. "Florenzia, I don't see how I can."

"Now, Meadows, of course they will be much smaller than mine," said the dragon.

"And I am sure that it is no great matter if Florenzia's cape has fewer jewels," said Lady Rose.

The dragon frowned. "As to that, I am not sure I could countenance—"

Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "We shall be happy to make the scarves so that your cadet can devote her full attention to your costume, Florenzia."

"Happy, yes." Ron shook his head.

Florenzia brightened. "That is settled, then. Perhaps you better buy some more crystal beads in London. Some gold would not be amiss, either. After all, one can always use more."

Harry looked at the pile of netting, now as tall as Cadet Meadows and felt that the beads would not be wasted, no matter how many they bought.

While Harry and Ron were mastering their beading skills, the small dragons, each the size of a small pony, returned. In return for their glittering halos, they had allowed younger boys from Laurence's and Lady Rose's crews to ride them and direct the search. But they all reported no success, although the countryside could be said to be on the lookout for a ginger-haired family. Duty done, the dragons jumped onto the pavilion and peered at the handiwork.

Mrs. Weasley pushed a dragon head out of her lap, where the beast was nudging her scarf, trying to put it on. The worry lines went deeper in her forehead, and the three friends concentrated harder on their beadwork, though shoving dragons out of the way every few minutes. Ron gave up and wrapped his scarf around the nearest dragon's head. The creature pranced in front of the huge hall mirror that Florenzia used as a hand mirror and came back to scold Ron for the lack of glitter.

"Well, I've just started, haven't I?" Ron demanded.

Then the other two dragons had to model theirs, with the same results. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione glared daggers at Ron.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when Lt. Roland asked Ron and him to help load the belly-rigging for Temeraire. Then he and Ron had to suffer barked criticism from the lieutenant on how to arrange things on the belly rigging, a huge net spread out flat on the ground that would attach under Temeraire. It seemed that bellowing was a required subject at aviator's school.

Shrieking must have been a close second, for Cadet Meadows, in her role as Chief Costumier, became irate at the way they proposed to carry her costumes. After a few hours as Fourth Assistant Costumier, Harry could understand how she felt. He helped her refold acres of fabric and cushion delicate head pieces.

During this time, a group of raggedy-looking men staggered towards Florenzia's pavilion. Their courage seemed to desert them when they spotted Temeraire, and they clustered together, swaying. Because they clutched their musical instruments in front of them like shields, Harry figured them to be the orchestra. Lady Rose, followed by a few green-coated aviators with stringed instruments, bid them welcome with fulsome movements on the same level as the dragon ballet. She ushered them onto the pavilion and pointed out her piano and the chairs that her crew had arranged. Noticing them, Temeraire returned to his pavilion and then ambled to Florenzia's. He held what looked like a steampunk tree.

"Who is the flautist?" he asked.

The musicians, traitors all, shoved one of their number to the edge of the stage. He drooped like a condemned prisoner.

"If you have time, I should appreciate it if you were to coach me in Prince Tamino's flute solos. I know they are usually played by the principle flautist, but I thought the prince should be able to play his own music, though perhaps if we played together it would be even more effective. Of course, I needed a flute for my own size, and I had my ground crew hollow out a tree and place the holes. When I couldn't cover them well because of my talons, Perscitia made these keys that push pads over the holes, and it works remarkably well. And so I would honored if you would listen to me play, perhaps when I return from London this afternoon, if your schedule permits, and advise me on how to improve my performance."

The man made a few grunts and gasps that Temeraire took for consent. The dragon looked pleased as he returned to supervising the loaders. The aviators with Lady Rose, boldened by Temeraire's success, approached the orchestra to say that they had practiced very hard to learn their parts and hoped to be allowed to play in the back of their respective sections. "Yes, yes, certainly," said the apparent leader, eyes anxiously scanning the courtyard. "If there are no more dragons who wish to play."

The orchestra took heart at Lady Rose's assurance that all the dragons would be on stage, some distance away, and they set themselves up to play. Harry was sorry not to hear them, but the rigging was loaded before the musicians had sounded a note. Temeraire leaned over to let the crew fasten the riggings' carabiners to his harness. After he reared and shook himself to make sure everything was secure. Harry gulped, as though the Royal Albert Hall had stood up and shimmied. He heard musicians dropping music and knocking over music stands behind him. But he and Ron both climbed up without assistance as a point of pride. Captain Laurence escorted both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, armed with the London map, to Temeraire's hand.

Ron growled.

Harry said, "He handed up your mother, too."

Ron started to say something, but shut his mouth and grabbed his straps when Temeraire soared into the air. Harry couldn't help cheering. Nothing felt better than flying, and Temeraire, no longer confined by his formation, was the fastest, smoothest ride Harry had ever had.

Hermione seemed happier this time too. She talked easily with Captain Laurence and Temeraire, complimenting him on his essays and letters in the book, which she'd sat up reading the night before. Ron, who had read the dedication and table of contents, ground his teeth.


	6. Chapter 6

Before they could go look for Diagon Alley, they had to unload Temeraire at the London covert. It was a poky brick affair, compared to the Dover covert. No one dragon owned it, but all the couriers and other visitors to London enjoyed having a better place to sleep than the ground. Here the party guests would sit, and a predictable tone ensued between those currently occupying the pavilion and the Dover contingent, who needed a place to store their burdens.

Temeraire put an end to it, pointing out (with that eerie growl in his throat that did in fact make your teeth hurt) that the party was for the maintenance and support of all British dragons, and therefore all British dragons should support the effort, whether by singing, playing the flute, writing, art work, or just getting out of the way.

Unloading went much faster after that, and Temeraire magnanimously instructed the crew to store things so that dragons could still sleep in the pavilion, if they were careful not to damage anything, while warning them that after the next day's final dress rehearsal, the Pavilion would be set up for the party and off limits until afterwards.

In the best of good humors, he set off with only Laurence, Lt. Roland, the wizards, Cadet Adams (Harry and Ron's first valet), and Ensign Sipho. Sipho was the darkest African Harry had ever seen, darker even than Kingsley Shacklebolt, but Sipho had been born in Africa, despite his upper crust British accent. He seemed to be the scholar of Temeraire's crew, and he and Hermione poured over the map, while talking of university and studies. The others tried to find familiar landmarks from the air. Temeraire was the perfect dragon for this search, because he could hang in one place, back-flapping his wings, so that everyone could get better looks. His eyes were sharper too: He spotted the rift in the air.

In his high-pitched voice, he said, "Like thin clouds, foggy, but almost solid. Do you see? There are people down there, on a street, but they are strangely dressed."

He eased down lower, but still the aviators saw nothing. Mrs. Weasley, if she squinted through one eye, could make out something, people moving, perhaps, and the younger wizards thought they saw something, but more mist than solid forms. As Temeraire rumbled again, everyone aboard covered their ears.

"I think I could penetrate it with the Divine wind," he said, swelling his belly in preparation for this roar.

"Pray do not, "said Laurence, stroking the black dragon's neck. "They are not our enemies, and they may not be inclined to help our friends if we begin by inflicting damage on them."

"Maybe we could find the entrance from the street," said Mrs. Weasley. "The Leaky Cauldron has to be there, even if it's called something else."

"Very well, "said Laurence. "Roland, Sipho, Adams, prepare the slings to let them down. Then go with them to attend to the shopping. Sipho, help Adams to pick out an evening rig. You can charge it to my account. Be sure to make your way back to the covert in good time, for we return to Dover today."

"I must be back by 4:00 for my rehearsal," said Temeraire, with equal parts pride and anxiety.

By the time Harry's feet touched the ground, the others had already canvassed the block once. And they'd established a reputation for being daft with the shopkeepers.

"Turns out it's weird to want to go out to the alley, unless you're in a pub," Ron said.

While holding his breath (London smelled worse now than in his time), Harry squinted and turned his head from side to side, trying to see where the Leaky Cauldron might be hidden between the stores that they could see. The sighs from his companions, all experienced in looking for Sirius's house, told him that they'd already tried that. He stepped back in hopes that a change in perspective might help. A horse would have knocked him down but for Ron grabbing his coat lapels and pulling him back.

"Tried that too," Ron said, pointing to his stained, stinking pants. "Don't stand too close to the road, is my advice!"

Mrs Weasley would not let them broaden their search until all the aviators were safely on the ground. "None of us are getting separated for any reason."

She consented to being split up by the sexes when Emily and Sipho pointed out that the shops were split that way also, not to mention that the back wall of the alley was another name for toilet, where the men would have easier access.

Hours later Harry felt like he'd marked enough of the neighborhood to apply for its title. They hadn't seen a flicker of magic to compensate for their skinned knuckles. Hermione had bought them all spoons to make tapping on bricks easier, but no one could resist using their knuckles, just in case the magic responded to hands instead of metal.

Finally Lt. Emily Roland, the senior officer, though she hardly any older than Harry, insisted that they start their shopping. She was armed with a list of stores and recommendations from Lady Rose and Florenzia for both men and women. "I never go shopping without consulting one or t' other. Both usually. They always know what one should wear, and I can't be bothered to learn. Though you have to be careful with Florenzia. She'll have you decked out like Christmas."

Ron and Harry were surprised to find Ensign Sipho a few years younger than they, and cadet Gerry Adams a few years younger than he. All the Aviator Corps teenagers seemed older than their years, if you compared them to the Muggle teens Harry had known—even many of the students at Hogwarts. At the shop, they listened hard to Sipho's advice to the cadet, who seemed inclined to the more florid styles, on the grounds that "some people" would admire them very much. Even when it became obvious that "some people" consisted of Cadet Molly Meadows, Sipho did not laugh at him, just kept steering towards waistcoat silk patterns that did not actually clash and shirts trimmed in narrow lace instead of wide ruffles.

Ron, of course, was never buying anything trimmed in lace and chose a plain coat and trousers and a solid sky blue silk waistcoat, breaking family tradition that had assigned him maroon. His eldest brother Bill had long ago claimed the right to wear blue, and Mrs. Weasley found it easier on wash day. There weren't many colors left by the time the sixth boy was born. Harry followed Ron's lead in severe style but chose a textured forest green silk waistcoat.

Sipho handled the charges while their purchases were wrapped. "We are meeting the others at Cranston's Jewelry. Do you need anything?" he asked Cadet Adams. "You can find something inexpensive of cut glass."

The boy blushed and replied, "I have my father's jewelry. But I should like to buy…something for someone else. I should be grateful for your advice." He swallowed hard as his face turned a brighter red. "I have some money of my own, for Captain Laurence shared the last prize money even with us cadets."

"He is very generous," agreed Sipho. "But unless you want advice on fobs or cravat pins, my advice will not be worth much. No doubt Cranston's people can advise you, and perhaps Mrs Weasley and Miss Granger."

Harry could well imagine how Gerry's confession and request would have been met in the Gryffindor common room. He would have called Sipho's conduct brotherly, but then he remembered Ron's brothers.

After quick look-ins to buy shoes and other accessories, they met the women at the corner Roland had designated. Hermione didn't see them at first; Harry could see her taking stock of the shabby buildings and garbage-filled streets as she assigned risk factors. She asked, "A jeweler's? Here?"

"This neighborhood is full of people who can't afford a home away from dragons," said Sipho. "We're very close to the covert. But Cranston does well."

They rounded the corner and saw a courier and his Winchester dragon standing in front of shop that had a big barn door instead of a window. Wide open, it allowed the dragon to inspect the wares.

"Hello, Hollin. Hello, Elsie. Hello, Cranston," called Lt. Roland.

Dragon, rider, and shopkeeper looked away from the trays of treasure to greet them.

"We are choosing an engagement present for Hollin's intended," said Elsie, blinking her large eyes. "We are enlarging our family."

Everyone murmured congratulations, which the dragon accepted more readily than her blushing captain. "Hollin, are you sure she would not rather have a plate? Although that blue jewel is very nice."

"My son can attend to you," Cranston said as Roland ushered her party into the strangest jewelry shop Harry had ever seen. Not that he'd seen many, but enough to where he expected to see rings and necklaces and earrings, though maybe if he considered scale, that is what the store held. Maybe a roach would feel the same way as he did if it dared to enter a human jewelry store. But some of the decorations Harry had no idea how a human or dragon would use.

"Cranston does keep jewelry for people, because usually it's the captains who come in. Only the smaller dragons can fit in the street," said Lt. Roland.

"I'm sure I don't know how to pick out something a dragon would like." Mrs. Weasley looked worried.

"For Florenzia? As big as possible. Shiny. Glittering. Something contrasting with her blue spots. Hard to be wrong," said Roland.

Hermione grabbed a large garnet pendant that would cover most of her chest. Mrs Weasley. took longer to decide. Ron nudged Harry. "We're supposed to have pins for our ties—cravats—or something like."

While indicating to a junior clerk to attend Sipho and Gerry, young Mr. Cranston showed Harry and Ron a tray of men's jewelry. Harry picked the first one under his hand as Ron selected a blob of a diamond sure to please a dragon.

Harry watched Gerry frowning over the necklaces and asking questions. At one point Sipho shook his head and beckoned Hermione over to pass judgment. Finally Harry gathered enough courage to voice his own thoughts. "Peridot. The August birthstone. Do you have any? In a necklace or something for a woman."

While Cranston scrambled, Harry drew deep breath and faced Mrs Weasley. "When I was with Ginny, there wasn't a gift-giving day—after Valentine's Day, before her birthday. I know—that is, Ron told me how I hurt her. If I buy something for her here and pay back Florenzia some how, will you give it to her? Even if she never knows it's from me, I want her to have something to mark the happiest time of my life." He tried to say more but something closed off his throat.

Cranston Jr. shoved a tray exhibiting a necklace of fat slabs of peridots, a gaudy lime green, interspersed with lustrous black pearls, discreetly gleaming. Mrs. Weasley squeezed his hand. "Harry, you really must stop giving people things in secret. I would not deprive Ginny of hearing that speech for the world. Mind you, she is too young to consider any permanent attachment. But she must have this necklace and its other pieces—the bracelets, the earrings, the rings. Look, Harry, this one is large enough for a man's hand. You must wear it to the party."

Harry slipped it on his finger and agreed that it fit, though the flashy green stone came up to his second knuckle.

With such a hint, the jeweler produced a black pearl pin for his cravat.

"She'll never be able to wear anything but green," said Ron, disapproving, but not daring to object to anything else in the face of his mother's approval."

"As a ginger, what else would she wear?" asked his mother with asperity. "You should go look in my closet sometimes."

"The set would be very handsome on black too," said Hermione, wandering back. "Of course you must get it for her, Harry. Just knowing how important that time was for you will mean everything to her. We'll all work to help pay for it."

Ron threw up his hands and walked to the door, almost colliding with Captain Hollin. Behind him, Elsie called, "It is decided. Miss Anna shall have a ruby ring with earrings, and we shall ask Mr. Wedgwood to fire a set of dishes of my own design. Do come away, Hollin. I want to begin my design right away."

"Yes, dear," promised her captain. "I only wished to offer to carry their packages and perhaps one of their party. When we reach the covert, I will ask other small dragons to come for the rest of you."

"We wouldn't like to put them to so much trouble," said Mrs. Weasley.

Captain Hollin smiled. "They do not consider it so. Mr. Cranston gives them a jewel—well, cut glass anyway—every time they visit, and some have godchildren to check on as well."

Elsie said, "It is called keeping the peace. I shall just step down the street and see that the peace is kept, for Mr. Cranston has given me an extra large jewel this time."

Mr. Cranston chuckled as he wrote up the account. "Better than the Watch, dragons are. Never a theft on this block!"

As she hopped away, Hollin and Ron, who volunteered to be the passenger, collected the packages. Hermione stepped around them to watch Elsie on patrol, hopping down the street and peering in windows.

"Godparents?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Lt. Roland signed the account that Mr. Cranston presented as she explained, "Yes, since Temeraire and Churki brought back the notion of dragons looking after communities rather than just a captain, the couriers have sought ways to increase their tribes, for they are too small have crews. I do not know who the clever clogs was who first asked a dragon to sponsor his child, but it's taken well in this neighborhood. No one bothers a dragon's family—not more than once, anyway—and the dragons bring extra food."

"The Church doesn't mind?" Mrs. Weasley was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept.

"Not as long as there's another sponsor who is a church member. Unless the dragon converts." Roland looked up to see their shocked expressions. "Whatever is the problem? I've seen Muslim dragons; why not should they not join the Church of England, if they like? Though Captain Laurence says that dragons do not suffer from original sin and therefore do not need salvation, but some take an interest anyway. You should hear Florenzia examine her crew on their catechism." She shrugged. "To each his own. Or hers."

The covert being very close, two more dragons arrived in a handful of minutes, one of them without a captain, but a light harness. Mrs. Weasley swung up behind the dragon's captain with ease, reminding Harry that many of her children were excellent Quidditch players. With a firm jaw, Hermione climbed aboard the other dragon as though mounting a horse; Harry took his place behind her.

As he fastened his carbiners in front of her, to anchor them both more firmly, he whispered, "Hermione, do you know how to convert wizard money to Muggle money? I'd like to help pay for the vacation too. Assuming we get back for it, that is." Harry tightened his grip on the package with Ginny's jewels. Somehow buying Ginny a present made it seem more likely that he'd get to give it to her, though he could see the flaws in that logic.

Hermione looked down at her straps as she pulled them tighter. "I should have enough, but if anyone would know how, it's Bill. Surely Gringotts has had to do that before. I was going to call from the hotel to invite the rest of the family: him, Fleur, and Charlie." She sighed. "I hope we get to do that."

"We will," said Harry, based on nothing but hope.


	7. Chapter 7

After a quick look-in on their adopted families, the dragons took them back to the covert, where they took their places on Temeraire and returned to Dover.

The orchestra was still scraping and tootling away in the front of Florenzia's pavilion, with several dragons singing in the courtyard in front of them. At least the chief musician had overcome his terror; he popped up from his seat at the piano to wave his arms and scream at both musicians and dragons alike. Other courtyards held blocking or singing rehearsals too, though the dragons were singing at half-voice so as not to disturb the main rehearsal. Humans either stood still and shouted or ran around in response to the shouting. Lady Rose and Perscitia, the blue and green ballet mistress dragon, seemed to have powers of bilocation or advanced apparating skills. Harry thought he saw one or both whichever way he looked.

Temeraire almost shook off his passengers, in his eagerness to get to his rehearsal. "But, Laurence, they're midway through the second act already. I should have been here!"

Captain Laurence soothed him. "And the orchestra should have playing yesterday instead of cowering in their rooms. Then you would have been available, according to plan. As they have made mice feet with the rehearsal schedule, it is not incumbent on you to make up for lost time, particularly as the principal tenor."

"Oh, that is very true!" Temeraire preened, rubbing his nose against his hide and making it worse as his harness men tried to disentangle him. "But Laurence, I have never sung with an orchestra. I am so eager to try!"

The wizards and crew took the opportunity of this exchange to scatter as far away as possible before Temeraire charged on stage. The wizards reunited in Florenzia's pavilion, where the dragon diva was drinking from one of her bowls, something steaming, spiced with enough ginger to either clear sinuses or choke bystanders. Florenzia explained that the drink was for her voice.

She wanted to see the new jewelry and clothes. As Emily Roland had foretold, the sparkling stones were the favorites. With hesitation, Harry broached the idea of Ginny's gift, telling the dragon the sadly brief story and pledging his service to her. Florenzia was much moved, almost to tears, it looked like, though he didn't know if dragons could actually cry. She agreed to his proposal and promised to keep him busy, which gave him a sinking feeling.

"Indeed, you have all been industrious, and the small scarves are almost complete," she said with a glance at the work table. With hardly any sighing at all, Harry and Ron returned to the table and resumed their crystal work.

Florenzia looked pleased. But as she looked around the pavilion, she asked, "Where is Miss Granger?"

Mrs. Weasley also looked and frowned. Her worry lines deepened each day. "Even in the covert, I do think we should stay at least in sight of each other."

"She's just talking to that feathered dragon," Ron gestured with his shoulder so as not to interrupt his beading. "The orange and purple one. I can see her."

Florenzia snapped her head around and sprang to her feet. "Churki? Oh no." She picked her way daintily around the orchestra and the stage, but quite rapidly.

"Is she in danger?" asked Mrs. Weasley, running to keep pace.

Florenzia didn't reply, but stopped a few feet from the other dragon and nodded with the grace of a queen.

Churki nodded back. An South American dragon, she was probably larger than Florenzia, but that impression might have come from her scales, not flat like the other dragons', but frilled on the edges, giving her a feathered look. Florenzia said that was one reason she had been cast as Papageno, the Bird Man, though she then needed a tunic to cover her feminine parts. The tunic's bright green over her violet and orange made her look as festive as a parade float. Her voice was low and musical. "Hello, Florenzia. I am giving a small reception after the opera. Hammond thinks it appropriate. I do hope Miss Granger will find the time to look in. I am most anxious to present my Hammond to you, Miss Granger. Such a superior creature, you will find. His brothers and sisters will be attending also. I believe you are quite unattached?"

Puffing to keep up, Ron gasped, punctuating every few words with a breath, "Hermione is promised to me. To be married, you know. I've known her since we were children, and she is the sweetest, kindest, smartest girl ever. And so beautiful. I can't imagine life without her, and I can't wait for our wedding day."

"I congratulate you. And certainly you are all welcome at my reception," said Churki with less enthusiasm, though she cast a speculative eye on Harry.

"I wish my intended could be here also," said Harry interjected with a strong sense of self-preservation. "She's Ron's sister, she is. I have just bought her a handsome set of peridots and pearls. For our engagement."

With a sour expression at war with her honeyed tones, Churki addressed Mrs. Weasley. "I congratulate you on such right-thinking children, to settle so early in life. Too many today have their heads full of other things. They must always be thinking of the war."

"As soldiers, they must do so," Florenzia said, her voice full of steel. "I would not push any young person under my protection to a hasty settlement. My guests, of course, are free to do as they will, but you see they have made plans for their futures. As for me, my first captain's two daughters will provide eggs in time, Lilias when her health allows, and I am in hopes that dear Rose will select Laurence or Granby—or both!—when her military duties allow, and when we are not in such deep mourning over her dearest mother."

Churki flipped her feathered tail, rather like a cross between a gargantuan parrot and cat. "One can mourn and do any number of things. One frequently must. But I should not cherish any hope of Granby. He is an invert—prefers men, you know."

It was Florenzia's turn to flip her tail in dismissal. Ron and Harry jumped out of the way. "He may prefer anything he likes. That has nothing to do with providing eggs. Iskierka will not stand for it, there is no doubt. But I have long wanted to know the particulars of Granby's failed engagement to the Sapa Inca. You were there and must know the truth."

"Oh, my dear, was there ever anything so unfortunate? At the very engagement ceremony! But they do not like it spoken of." Churki turned away, but tossed her head to ask Florenzia to follow, clearly intending to speak at great length on the forbidden topic.

Florenzia drew near enough so that Churki had to stoop only a little to whisper in her ear. The wizards backed away, with Mrs. Weasley's encouragement.

"Children, we must stay together. I don't we've understand this culture at all. I'm beginning to think that people are just dragon pets." Mrs. Weasley cast a worried glance back at the gossiping dragons, though they were far enough away that the opera music drowned the juicy tidbits Churki was having such a good time imparting.

"Hermione," said Ron, desperate edge in his voice. "I meant it. Everything. I only said it so Churki wouldn't marry you to that git."

"She was just inviting me to a party," Hermione protested. "And you don't know he's a git."

Ron insisted, "Bound to be. And Florenzia thought you were in danger. Looks like the dragons around here will snatch up anyone not attached. So that's why I said it. But I meant it. How could I help it? You are the kindest—Look, I don't understand Muggle money, but where were you getting the money for the vacation? Harry, wouldn't that be expensive?"

Harry nodded while Hermione looked away. She traced a pattern in the dirt with her shoe. Finally she said, so low that they all had to lean forward. "So you know I changed my parents' memories so they'd forget about me and move to Australia? They'd always saved for my education, and I thought they'd want me to have that money. So I had them transfer the funds completely to me and forget they'd done so."

"Your school money? You're using your school money to take my family to the beach?" Ron's voice cracked.

"I thought we all needed a rest." Hermione refused to meet his eyes.

Ron threw his arms around her. Hermione jumped in surprise, then hugged him back just as hard.

"Do you know, I think as long as we stay in twos, we'll be fine," said Mrs. Weasley, to Harry's relief. She put a hand on his arm and guided him away from both the dragons and his friends.

Ron and Hermione broke to a one-armed embrace so they could walk. They leaned into each other, heads almost touching, and soon they were far enough away that they looked like one person in the twilight.

Harry didn't realize that he could feel both joyous and sad at the same time, over the same thing. He decided to focus on happiness for his friends, even if he couldn't ignore the deep ache in his soul. He put his hand in his pocket to clutch the jewelry case.

Mrs. Weasley was saying something, but he didn't catch all of it. "…Ginny is too young, you know. I know she'll be of age and the first thing she'll say is, 'You can't tell me what to do,' but I want her to go back to Hogwarts for her seventh year. I don't care if she gets absolutely no NEWTS! I want her to have a school year that's just a school year, not a battle with the worst wizards in history. And that young lady needs to get back on a broomstick!" She squeezed Harry's arm. "I suppose that could be said for many students. Oh, you don't have to say anything. It's hard to make plans when we don't know if we'll ever get back to our time in our world."

"We have to," said Harry, with a glance back at the gossiping dragons. "The dragons…they're not trying to eat us or anything, but I'm not sure about them. I thought their captains had them under control, like really big horses, but—"

"Exactly! It's more like people are their pets. I want to get away before they start fighting over us. I'm not sure our wishes would matter." Mrs. Weasley hurried him to the pavilion.

It wasn't a refuge: the work table, covered in netting and crystals beckoned. They both sighed and took their seats.

"And it makes it so much the harder when we actually owe a debt," said Mrs. Weasley, pulling thread from a skein.

"I can give the jewelry to Florenzia," said Harry, subdued. "She liked the bright green stones."

Mrs. Weasley patted his hand, which unfortunately held a needle. "There's still the clothes, room, board, rescue…you may have to, but let's settle everything else first."

Harry was still rubbing his pierced palm when Ron and Hermione climbed the grand marble steps to the pavilion. Their hair and clothes looked mussed, with Hermione's rebellious hair escaping its braids to stick out in as many directions as Harry's hair normally did, but to be fair, they'd looked much the same after dismounting Temeraire that afternoon. Without a word, but fleeting smiles at each other, they took seats at the work table. Harry couldn't decide which one looked happier.

They worked in silence, except for exclamations of pain from misguided needles and of frustration at having to chase crystals on the parquet floor. The different colored wood pieces fit so well together that the beads could roll a long way before capture, even into the floor-level copper basins.

Everyone heaved a relieved sigh when the musicians finally quit playing for the evening. The candles on their music stands had burned to nubs, and that seemed to be reason enough to stope. Harry hadn't thought the music bothered him, but it seemed as though his entire Regency experience was accompanied by a Mozart soundtrack. He even liked Mozart, he decided, but an absence of skittering notes—just for a change—was restful.

After the musicians stumbled away, either too tired or grown accustomed to be afraid of the dragons in the courtyard, Florenzia returned, a pleased expression on her face. "Well! You would not credit it, but the true story of how Granby did _not_ become the Aztec Emperor is even more exciting than the stories circulating about it. That is hardly ever true. South America sounds like a marvelous place, with golden walls and truly sensible views on dragons. It is too bad that the Inca have thrown their lot in with Bonaparte, for how can you trust those of such poor judgment? But perhaps we will visit Brazil, now that the Tswana dragons are assisting our Portuguese allies in reforms." She admired their handiwork and was pleased with its imminent conclusion. Then she said, "I beg your pardon for not inquiring earlier, but was your mission successful? Did you find your Diagon Alley?"

Any happiness they'd acquired during the day fled owls with urgent post to deliver. The morning's disappointment settled over them all, heavy and smothering."

"I am afraid it was not," said Mrs. Weasley.

Ron explained, "We could see it, but we could not find a way to get there, not without Temeraire blowing a hole in the shield. I never heard that it _had_ a shield. Did you, Hermione?"

"No. I never thought of it, but surely airplanes and helicopters would have seen it, if it were visible from the air. If only we could get to a library," said Hermione, her voice shaking. "I feel lost without books."

Florenzia offered, "Both my captains are and were great readers. We have any number of books here, and Rose is a member of several circulating libraries. Also, we have subscriptions to _La Belle Assemblée_. It was delivered today, and one of the cadets shall read the serial story to us tonight. I am most particular that my crew should be educated, and I am quite sure that we can find you a book, Miss Granger."

Hermione ducked her head, whether to hide crying or laughing, Harry couldn't tell. "I mean magic books, like at school. Can we get to Hogwarts, do you think?"

"No," said Ron. "Not without trains."

Hermione shook her head. "No books. No teachers. No one at all to ask! We don't know any wizard at all, no one who can help us." Her voice rose with each word.

"Sure we do," said Ron. "Well, I feel like I know him anyway. Spent most of our first year looking for him, didn't we? Nicholas Flamel, born in 1327. He was alive in 1992; he must be alive now."

"Ron, you're a genius!" cried Hermione, throwing her arms around his neck.


	8. Chapter 8

Ron looked pleased. "Yes, but not everybody knows."

"I've always known," declared Hermione. She cast her gaze to the ceiling, with its many breeds of dragons frolicking in a clear-sky fresco. "Let's see…the book said, 'noted alchemist and opera lover.' But how can we contact him?"

Florenzia said, adjusting herself on her mound of pillows, "Quite easily, if he's an opera lover. We shall invite him to the subscription party to see the opera. Rose, can you be spared? I would like to send a letter."

The orchestra crashed through a few more chords to a definite closure. Lady Rose left her post by the edge of the stage, laid down her bull horn, and lowered herself onto the sofa. "Certainly, my dear. But may we do so in the morning? No post nor couriers will leave this late at night, and I confess to…utter exhaustion."

After encouraging her captain to drink a cup of the ginger tea—"ever so good for the voice"—Florenzia nudged Lady Rose to her bedroom and scolded the young runners and other crew members to bed as they drooped their way to the pavilion.

The wizards stood to go to their rooms when Captain Laurence and Ensign Sipho, arms full of books and papers, navigated through the departing musicians. Florenzia explained that they would not entertain that evening, as Lady Rose and her crew had retired already. Captain Laurence expressed regret, saying that he and Sipho had brought books and articles that Hermione might like to read, with her interest in justice for repressed people.

"Everybody likes to talk to Hermione," whispered Ron. "She's so smart and sympathetic."

"Tattoo that on your forehead," Harry whispered back. "To remind yourself everyday that everybody likes to talk to Hermione because she's so smart and sympathetic."

Ron's face turned brighter than his hair. "I've been an ass, haven't I?"

He managed to bid Laurence and Sipho a pleasant good night and agreed that Hermione would like the books very much. He looked thoughtful as he and Harry prepared for bed but said nothing until after he blew out the candle. "She says she'll marry me if we stay here, because unmarried women aren't allowed to do anything, but if we go back, she wants to get through uni first. Makes me almost want to stay, even if we do have to wear hats at night to stay warm."

Harry pulled his nightcap tighter around his ears, but didn't answer. Nothing could compensate him for staying out of place and time. He gripped Ginny's jewelry, tucked under his pillow.

Strangely, Harry woke to no musical accompaniment the next morning. He dressed quickly, feeling like he was getting the hang of tying cravats, at least in simple folds. And for the first time in his life, just shaking his hair and pushing it off his forehead was enough. Gerry said it was a style called the Windswept.

Ron knotted his cravat but couldn't get his hair to do anything but lie flat, even with the help of a foul-smelling oil. He grumbled, "Never thought I'd see the day when I tried to make my hair look like yours."

Harry tossed his head. "Some of us have a flair for fashion."

Emerging from their bedroom, he and Ron found Florenzia announcing something in impossibly convoluted flowery phrases. Mrs. Weasley and Hermione watched while Lady Rose took dictation.

"There was great rejoicing in the land to hear of your presence, for we dared to hope that you might attend the Aerial Corps Subscription Party, for the assistance and maintenance of His Majesty's dragons, not only to gaze upon the humble musical offering of the dragons, for if dragons have presented a full length opera, I have not heard of it—" declaimed Florenzia, her head tossed back with eyes shut.

"Florenzia is writing to Nicolas Flamel to invite him to the opera," whispered Hermione.

"He's supposed to understand that?" asked Ron.

"Sh. That's how people talk in this age."

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were settling into Regency dress, whereas the most Ron and Harry could hope for, Harry felt, was that no one would grab them by the cravat to retie it. The women wore the same long-sleeved, thin muslin gowns, but Mrs. Weasley's hair was twisted into a knot on her head, with a few demure curls permitted to escape, and punctuated with ribbons and feathers. Hermione's bushy hair had been wrestled into thick braids and wrapped around her head like a crown. The fat braids indicated that her dresser hadn't tortured her by brushing out her hair to straighten it, but the division into segments must have been painful, if the glistening tears in Hermione's eyes were a clue. The lace ruffles at her throat and wrists gave an elegant appearance that school robes or jeans never had.

"I have the honor to remain your most humble obedient servant, Colonel Florenzia, His Majesty's Aerial Corps," the dragon finished.

Lady Rose looked at the wizards. "And how shall I direct the letter?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Will 'Mr. Nicolas Flamel, Devon, England' be enough, do you think?"

Lady Rose looked doubtful. "Perhaps, but it would be more certain if you knew the name of his house or something more specific."

"The history book didn't include that," said Ron. "Everybody would have been calling on him to get his Philosopher's Stone."

Harry sighed. They had been so close to an answer. His friends' faces mirrored his discouragement.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from her beading. "Puddlethwait by the Sea, Devon."

"You know him, Mum?" squeaked Ron.

Mrs. Weasley picked up a bead and squinted at it. "Of course I do. Professor Dumbledore took my class—seventh years, of course—on a field trip to Mr. Flamel's house to see some of their work with dragon's blood. He and his wife were most gracious, and they sent a Christmas card every year afterwards."

Ron's voice cracked in the soprano range. "You mean that year we searched high and low for him, all we had to do was ask you? Or go home for winter holidays and read the Christmas cards?"

"Let it be a lesson to you," said his mother as she selected another bead.

Glancing at Ron's red face, Hermione turned the subject. "But how can we deliver the letter? If only we had an owl! They always find their way."

"You can make owls deliver mail?" asked Lady Rose, raising an eyebrow. "Pigeons are difficult enough."

In the end, they decided to send one copy of the letter by dragon courier, one by the postal service, one by carrier pigeon, and one by private messenger, at the discretion of the dragon courier. Even this many options wasn't enough to erase Hermione's worry lines.

"We don't even know that Nicolas Flamel exists in this world," she said.

"Best shot we've got," said Ron.

Harry nodded in agreement. He became aware that Lady Rose was staring at him. He wondered if he had a spot on his face.

"I am due with the musicians," she said. Tootles and squawks behind her confirmed this statement. "I should be pleased to employ you to take over my secretarial duties, if you can wield a pen."

"I—yes, there are pens in my world," replied Harry, nervous because he was certain that quills in this age differed from those at Hogwarts.

"No doubt you can easily master the duties then," said Lady Rose, shoving her papers toward him. "I have made notes of the letter that you can use to make a fair copy. You will have to abbreviate it for the pigeon, though. One of the runners can bring you the paper."

Having delegated, she joined the musicians at the front of the pavilion, leaving Harry to discover indeed that quills differed greatly from the magical pens he was used to. Hermione tried to help—Ron and Mrs. Weasley weren't much use, having never encountered anything but the magical kind—but the young runners were the most helpful, showing him the mechanics of trimming and filling the quill. They brought him a stack of paper scraps to practice with; he was embarrassed that he blotted all of them before he dared to try Lady Rose's hot pressed paper.

Harry hadn't thought the covert could be any more chaotic between opera rehearsal and patrolling dragon formations, but as the party day grew closer, arranging the logistics made it worst, particularly in the kitchen, as party chefs of many nations warred with each other and the cooks who fed the covert. Fortunately, they couldn't understand each other, and it fell to the wold travelers like Lt. Roland and Ensign Sipho to make peace, assign kitchen schedules, and allot ingredients.

Then, after near-performance fever rose to the explosion point, silence dropped over the covert like a woolen blanket. The cast; orchestra; and most of the dragons, crew, and staff flew to the London covert for a final dress rehearsal. Some, as Admiral Roland observed, had to remain on guard during the party. So those who would stand on guard and wait were treated to a full performance now. Most of the humans were volunteers. Gardenley, for instance, said that nothing, not even a raree-show of singing and dancing dragons, would make her put on a dress and say how-dee-do to a bunch of nobs.

Through it all, Harry kept writing: the letters to Nicolas Flamel had gone out, but Florenzia kept up a wide correspondence, and Lady Rose had many sets of notes waiting to be turned into letters. With each one, he envisioned another pearl or peridot earned.

Two afternoons after the final dress rehearsal, dragons whisked everyone not on duty, including the wizards, to London. The grubby covert was transformed into a fairy land. Chinese lanterns and silk hangings guided the guests to their hostesses, when Hermione, Ron, Harry, Mrs. Weasley, and younger crew members stood ready to guide them to their seats on the pavilion for dinner, paying tribute to Temeraire's heritage and the alliance with China.

The aviators were also trans formed: Lady Rose and Lieutenant Roland as hostesses were resplendent in a welter of silk and velvet. The third hostess was Florenzia, her head swathed in netting and jewels. She crouched behind the humans in an effort to make herself small so as not to frighten the public, who still stepped warily around her.

A young man with glistening black skin, who could only be Sipho's brother, was got up as an African prince. He traded sympathetic glances with Captain Laurence in Chinese robes. Incredibly, Laurence was the adopted son of the Chinese Emperor.

"But I advise you not to mention it," whispered Lieutenant Roland—or Miss Emily Roland, as she would be known for the evening. "The whole notion embarrasses him, though truly it was the only way to keep him with Temeraire, him being a Chinese Dragon. And it has made the Chinese our ally, most valuable." She snickered. "His 'father' the Emperor has sent a letter to be read. Captain Laurence don't know it yet. Just watch his face when—Lord! 1'd better have Sipho read it. I shan't be able to avoid laughing. Welcome, Your Grace! We are honored by your presence."

"And I'm supposed to avoid laughing?" muttered Sipho as the ladies greeted the new guest, a short, dark-haired man with an expression like his boots were pinching him.

"That's the Duke of Wellington!" squealed Hermione. She stepped forward to escort him to his table.

She returned with a glum expression, like her mother or her cat just died. "Why, he looks like a little rat. He acts like it too. You'd think a famous general would be more commanding, more noble. And he looked down my dress the whole time."

Harry put a restraining hand on Ron's arm and said as a distraction, "You can't say this guy isn't big enough."

The fattest man they'd ever seen waddled over, leering at Emily and Lady Rose as he kissed their hands. The wizards exchanged startled looks as the hostesses curtseyed.

"The Prince Regent?" whispered Hermione, disappointed again.

The prince almost drooled as he surveyed the females. Mrs. Weasley pushed Hermione back as she lifted her chin and stepped forward. The prince, unfortunately, was even more delighted. His cheeks quivered as his smile broadened.

Ron cut in front. "Mum, let me take this one, have the honor, I mean." He bowed low to the prince, who looked bereft as the women scurried backwards.

They all stared so hard at the Prince Regent's progress to his seat—he had to be lifted up each pavilion step by a team of five attendants—that they almost missed the Flamels. Fortunately the couple asked for Colonel Florenzia, who had sent them an invitation, and Florenzia whuffed with pleasure. During her eloquent speech, starting with "I am truly sensible of the great honor you do me and the Corps with your presence and support," the wizards redirected their attention to the newly arrived couple, who stared aghast at Florenzia, glittering with her jewels. Her letter had not, perhaps, made clear that she was a dragon.

Nicolas Flamel looked like you might expect a 400-year-old man to look: small, stooped, with wisps of white hair, and wrinkled like a walnut. His wife Perenelle, on the other hand, looked as young and dewey the Harry's schoolmates. She laughed at their surprise and said, "I utterly refuse to be old if I have to look old. What is magic for, anyway?"

Unlike the witches and wizards of Harry's time, the Flamels were dressed like others at the party, though Mrs. Flamel sported more silk, velvet, and feathers than her contemporaries.

They both were ready to be pleased with everything, from the location of their table to the wildly international dinner menu that Ron at least treated with as much skepticism as Harry felt.

"We are so happy that you were able to accept an invitation," began Mrs. Weasley.

"Our delight is beyond words, is it not, my dear?" said Mr. Flamel. "Oh my dearest, have you ever seen such a menu?"

"Indeed! We shall be feasted from all four corners of the world!" replied his wife, peeking at each dish.

As the Flamels wrestled with and exclaimed over the unrecognizable dishes, the wizards poured out their story. Despite their speaking simultaneously and correcting each other, Nicolas Flamel nodded as though he followed, even though he commented equally on the sauces and the lofty personages who surrounded them.

"So we appear to be in an earlier time than where we came from. But I cannot recall a time in history when we had a dragon Aviator Corps." Hermione said.

"Very likely not," agreed Mr. Flamel. "But you must remember that there is not a single line of time. He waved his fork and knife in the air to illustrate. "They run side by side, sometimes tangling and intertwining."

"Do tell them the most interesting part," urged his wife. "And have some of this superb Chinese dish."

"Oh, my! A little more wine, if you please. Rather, a lot more wine! I have never tasted anything so hot!"

"It's made with the dragons' favorite peppers," volunteered Mrs. Weasley.

Eventually Mr. Flamel's face stopped sweating and his face returned to his original pasty white. He and his wife poured over the menu and speculated over the temperature of the other dishes until Ron risked being rude, raising the subject again. "So there's different time lines? Not just the one we know? Like Hermione said, there's no opera singing dragons or Aviator Corps in ours."

"Nor mine. I confess to surprise, not having encountered this particular flip of time. Is it not delightful?"

"You were so wise to set up so that we would receive mail from so many dimensions," said his wife.

"Have we heard the best part yet?" asked Harry as more dishes were brought to the table.

"Thank you, young sir, for reminding me," said Flamel as he examined the nearest offering. "I was going to tell you about an odd timeline offshoot, an unpredictable one, as though all timelines were not unpredictable. But whereas deviations usually come about from one decision or another, or one event or another, sometimes strand goes off like this celery stalk when I slice it. You see it makes a little circle and then curls in on itself. I think the best way to describe it is perhaps someone's imagination has been so very strong that the world imagined becomes real, rather like living in a book."

Ron frowned. "In that possible? How could such a world be real? I mean, look around you. The chairs are real. The food is real. I promise you the dragons are real. If all this exists in someone's imagination, what's to say our world isn't the same?"

Mrs. Flamel patted his hand. "Nothing whatsoever. But you needn't worry. You would never know."

"None of this was in our textbooks," exclaimed Hermione, dropping her fork to wring her hands.

Flamel scolded, "Nor should it be, Miss Granger. Time travel is not a light undertaking, best not attempted by those who desire it most."

His wife added, "By the time most are wise enough to attempt it, they no longer desire it. Indeed, I have sometimes questioned the wisdom of thinning the veils around our house so that we can receive communications from other time streams, but in this case it can be thought fortuitous."

Flamel smiled at her with fondness undimmed by centuries. "That is the purpose of wives, is it not, to question their husbands' wisdom? How often have I been grateful for it! But I confess, I would have been sorry to have missed this evening."

She tapped his knuckles with her fan, splendid in its lace and gilt. "You would not have been sorry, for you would never have known about singing dragons. But I must be glad for the opportunity to assist travelers, especially when their difficulties have occurred quite by accident—one that you, my dear, possibly could have prevented had you recorded the results of the Royal Society's portkey experiments of 1663."

He shook his head. "Now, dearest, Kester Wren was completely opposed it, after the spectacular failure with King Charles' snuff box, and the Society agreed with him. I cannot say that they were wrong. You were not present to see—well, never mind. We cleaned it up as best we could, and I would not say a word now if it were not necessary to return our new friends to their time. Oh, my, will you look at that! Our hostess dragon is to sing a duet with that young lady, Lady Rose, was it not? I wonder she does not die of fright, perched up there in a dragon's hand. Sh, let us listen."

After the Mozart duet, which had Flamel dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief and murmuring, "Lovely, lovely," with Mrs. Flamel and Mrs. Weasley sighing in accompaniment, Ron asked, "I suppose we have to go back?"

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione and his mother.

In an instant, Flamel changed from a jolly wee elf to a harbinger of doom. "Mr. Weasley, I can only tell you that every person I knew who was convinced that he belonged in another place and time and worked out how to go there, did not stay."

"Or she," said Mrs. Flamel, her voice swollen with sorrow.

"Yes, yes, or she." Flamel heaved a sigh before continuing. "Few wanted to speak of it afterwards—and few could without tears—but if you will take the advice of someone far senior to you, you will go back to where you were placed."

"Not that you should not try to improve it or yourself," added Mrs. Flamel. "Perhaps that is the true purpose of glimpses into other possibilities, to bring their virtues to your own place."

Harry felt that they'd tried their best to improve their world and were due a bit of rest. Meeting his friends' eyes, he could tell they felt the same. But they wouldn't get that rest in this world. He asked, "So what do we have to do to get back?"

Flamel leaned forward. "Stay a moment! Let us hear this dragon chorus in the Duke of Wellington's honor. Why, how many sizes and breeds there are! Oh, Handel's March! Of course, how appropriate!"

Hermione looked ready to explode with any more delays. Ron covered her hand with his and squeezed, drawing a reluctant smile from her. But then the books, _Writings of the Dragons_ , were handed out, with attention drawn to the opera program at the back. There were too many things for the Flamels to marvel at. Then the opera itself began, with no hope of further conversation for some time.

It was hard to bring the Flamels back to the wizarding problem after the first act of the opera. They had too many accolades to give and too many discussions and comparisons of the performance, which Harry didn't see how could be compared to anything. He made a vow to avoid opera in the future, because any show with humans was bound to seem less than singing, dancing dragons.

Finally Hermione claimed their attention by standing in front of them, blocking their view of the stage. "So our vase broke in two, sending us here and the rest to our original destination. We hope. How do we get back?"

"You must find the rupture, probably near where you first landed, a sort of invisible heaviness—my goodness, is that the Prince Regent?" Flamel tried to peer around Hermione.

"Yes," Ron said. "It is. Now how do we find this invisible heaviness?"

"By touch, which you might have assumed, it being invisible. The easiest thing would be for you to accompany us to our travel location after the performance. We had to deliberately arrange such a tunnel from our time to this time. After you've felt it once, you'll know when you encounter it again. Then you all hold the object and recite the spell ' _Nihil domo iucundius._ '"

"There's no place like—Oh, not really!" exclaimed Hermione after she translated.

"I promise you it is correct," said Flamel.

His wife nodded. "We've used it—what, my dear—five or six times?"

Hermione sat down, looking lost and desperate. They hadn't much choice, Harry felt, but no one seemed to have much faith that it would work. But it was impossible to stay depressed after the glorious second act of the opera, with Florenzia cheered into an encore after her aria, when all the dragons knelt and sang a rousing chorus of "God Save the King." At the Flamels' insistence, they all took tea with Florenzia and various awed guests before walking back into London to the Flamels had arrived.

Mrs. Flamel exclaimed over how clean and quiet she found the streets, "A dirty, nasty mess in our day, I do assure you." When Mrs. Weasley explained about the dragons' influence, Mrs. Flamel pressed a small bag of gold into the other woman's hands, "for whatever the neighborhood would like—a statue, perhaps, of a dragon? Or a hospital or church, one big enough to included dragons? I like to feel that I've contributed, wherever I go. I'm sure the dragons will know best."

Meanwhile, the young wizards followed Mr. Flamel's lead and waved their arms through the air until they found the invisible rent, which did feel just like a bump in the air. When the two ladies had finished their conversation, Mrs. Flamel joined her husband. They held Florenzia's invitation as they recited _Nihil domo iucundius_.

Hermione shook her head in disgust, but the two old wizards wavered in the air and then winked out of sight. Hope flickered, the barest light, in Harry's soul as they trudged back to the covert.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry's hope bloomed stronger with a night's sleep, but Hermione was still worried in the morning.

"There were so many things we didn't ask him," she said. "Maybe only his magic works. We haven't been able to cast the smallest spell."

Mrs. Weasley bustled about, getting ready to leave. "I spoke at length with Mrs. Flamel while you were questioning him, and she thinks the presence of the dragons probably hinders our magic. She hasn't worked out the equations—she leaves that to Professor Flamel—but there seems to be a limit as to how much magic can express in one place, and all those dragons, being magical themselves and doing magical things, absorbed all the magical potential. We must make sure they drop us off a ways from our return portal and that they do not linger near by. Do gather up your things. I want to get back as soon as we can, and we must stop at the covert for the rest of our clothes."

"But they bought our dress outfits," objected Ron. "Won't we leave them here?"

Mrs. Weasley looked flustered. "I particularly want that suit you wore last night, Ron. It would look nice on your father. And mine suits me very well. I hope we can arrange to buy them from Florenzia."

While Ron rolled his eyes, Hermione asked, "But can we take things back?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Mrs. Flamel said yes, that inanimate objects seem to have no problem crossing time streams. We did bring our clothes and half of our vase, you know. She thinks it's an explanation for why odd things turn up in strange places."

"A theory of missing socks," murmured Harry, happy that his gift for Ginny would make the trip.

Florenzia, between yawns, seemed genuinely sad when they told her they wanted to leave as soon as possible. Harry tried not to think of his losing Hedwig or Ron's distress over losing Scabbers, before he knew who Scabbers was. He particularly tried not to recall Hagrid's maxim that people can be a bit daft about their pets.

The dragon was enjoying a vat of her favorite throat-healing ginger tea, made by a drooping crew. She took a long drink and lifted her head up and back to enjoy the tea's warm progress down her throat. "Nothing could be easier, as Iskierka, Temeraire, and I must go on patrol this morning. I do see that others have been doing double duty in our absence, but I could wish for a few more hours of sleep. And I do see that you wish to rejoin your friends, but I must assure you that you and your friends will always be welcome in my household."

Harry hesitated before asking, "I wrote a few letters for you—"

"A few!" exclaimed Ron.

"I counted at least twenty," added Hermione.

"I hope they might be enough for at least one piece of the jewelry," he said, cheeks flaming.

"You must certainly take the entire set," said Florenzia. "You all have been most willing to work wherever you were asked. You made everyone's workload much lighter, and your beadwork was very fine. And just last Sunday we heard a fine sermon about welcoming strangers, which I am sure applies here. Oh, and I know what I must do: I must write a reference for you, to show your future employers. Perhaps you will take dictation once more?"

She also graciously granted Mrs. Weasley's request for some of the clothing as Harry searched for pen and paper.

"Think a dragon's recommendation will help you get a job?" whispered Ron.

"I bet it will get me any job I want," retorted Harry. "Except in Muggle world."

Word of their departure spread, and Captain Lawrence, Lt. Roland, and Captain Granby, along with the rest of Florenzia's crew, came to say good-bye. It was hard to leave people who had taken them in so willingly. Harry saw his sadness mirrored in his friends' faces. Of course he didn't want to stay, but it was hard to leave knowing that he'd never see these people or dragons again.

They were in the air sooner than Harry expected. He would have been hard pressed to identify the exact location where they had arrived, but Florenzia had no trouble in locating it. She touched down a bit of a distance away, and pointed to where she said was the exact spot that she had found them. She had barely touched down when she looked up and exclaimed, "Why, look at those French dragons! In broad daylight, no less! I must go join the others." She held her forehand out imperatively.

The wizards broke off their good-byes and thanks to step into her hand, Hermione now as confident as any of them. Florenzia set them down with care and asked if everyone were safe before launching into the air with trilling shrieks.

Hermione covered her ears and shuddered. "If Temeraire's Divine Wind is worse than that, I don't ever want to hear it."

As they walked toward their target, they craned their necks watch dozens of small brown dragons and a few bright middleweights swarming around Temeraire and Iskierka, high in the air over the water. The smaller ones crowded in close, as though to keep the larger dragons from doing anything. Temeraire, indeed, tried to avoid hurting them. Iskierka just drew a deep breath and let out blast of flame, frying the closest ones, who fell shrieking into the Channel. They did not rise.

Florenzia flipped on her back to fasten herself onto a middleweight's belly. He squalled and struggled until he ripped free and fled, black blood streaming through the air. Florenzia resumed her chortling as she twisted like a corkscrew and aimed herself at one of the other middleweights, who turned tail and joined the other in flight back to France.

Hermione stood frozen in horror until Mrs. Weasley tapped her shoulder. "Come, dear. We must begin."

"But we should help them…how can we help them?" Hermione pleaded.

"We can't, dear. We can't do magic near them, and they're doing what they've been trained for. They're all experienced soldiers," Mrs. Weasley said in her soft, comforting voice.

"Aviators, they are," corrected Ron, putting an arm around Hermione's shaking shoulders. "We could be in trouble if they weren't here to defend us. So the sooner we leave, the sooner they can stop fighting."

Hermione nodded and leaned down to pick up a stone. They collected as many as they could carry and then laid the stones in a grid, with the plan that each person should travel down a different side. Above them, the battle raged on, with Iskierka's fire blasting, dragons screaming, and sad splashes in the water that made Hermione gasp back a sob each time. Harry tried not to listen as he marched down his set of stones with his hands wide, searching for the ripple that Professor Flamel had shown them. But a rumbling thunder gathered into a full roar that drove him to his knees—Temeraire had lost patience and released his Divine Wind.

The others were on the ground also. Hermione clutched her middle as she curled into a ball. Ron had both hands over his mouth. Mrs. Weasley clutched her stomach and felt the area around her with her other hand. Harry looked up to see the three dragons swooping as graceful as the dragon dancers from the night before. Florenzia and Iskierka had dived behind Temeraire to avoid the worst of his roar. His victims had scarcely splashed into the Channel when Iskierka snaked in front to flame as many French dragons as she could while Florenzia twisted her way through the outliers, avoiding the fire and never holding still long enough to be shot or scratched. It was a lovely ballet, with only the cries and splashes of the casualties to indicate its deadliness.

Mrs. Weasley gave a weak gasp as she found a large lump near the ground. The others crawled closer and agreed that it was the same kind of ripple that Professor Flamel had shown them.

Ron staggered to his feet and pulled out the vase fragment from his jacket. He extended a hand to Hermione to help her up. Harry would have done the same for Mrs. Weasley, but she had already struggled up. Hermione winced at Florenzia's trilling battle cry, and at that moment, Temeraire let forth the Divine Wind again, more terrible this time because it caught the last of Florenzia's high-pitched howl and magnified it. The wizards pitched forward again, but they were close enough to hold each other up. Hermione had just uncovered ears when the splashing started, made worse by dull thuds as the dragon corpses hit the shallow water and the water's edge.

"Don't look," said Ron, pulling her closer to him. "Everybody grab the vase. Hermione, say the spell and let's go."

But when they held the vase fragment between them, Hermione hesitated, her face twisted with fear. "It can't possibly work. Who knows where we'll end up this time?"

Ron still had one arm around Hermione's shoulders. He squeezed her as he said, "It's you doing it, so it'll work."

"This is right," said Harry. "I can feel it. It's like when I was walking with Dumbledore through King's Cross Station. He said—I don't know how to explain it." He still didn't know what to call that feeling.

Hermione looked at him doubtfully.

"Just because it's in my head doesn't mean it isn't real," Harry said. This time, he was as sure as Dumbledore had been.

Mrs. Weasley said in a deep calm voice that sounded like the wise witch she was, "We're all with you, dear. Go ahead. It has to be you, because you started the spell. You have all the pieces now, and you have your friends with you."

Hermione clutched the broken vase so tightly that it was a wonder it didn't break again. Harry saw blood welling up between her fingers as the sharp edges of the vase cut into her skin, but he said nothing. Adding blood could only strengthen the spell.

She drew a shaky breath and breathed out, " _Nihil domo iucundius. Nihil domo—_ "

They fell through space and time again, not the smooth transfer of a portkey, but the bumpiness that Harry remembered from the first trip.

Again they staggered in the sand.

Harry knew he was back in his own time, with shrieks of over-funned, over-sugared children, and the nauseating odor of too many stale sweets and industrial smells that squashed the salty beach scent. As he tried to regain his footing, a beach ball whacked him off balance. The troop of hooligans chasing it knocked him back into the sand, full of twentieth century trash.

Hermione and Ron pulled him to his feet.

A frown creased her forehead as she said, "I remember this being more fun when I was younger."

Mrs. Weasley clutched her baggage to her chest. Eyes darting everywhere, she said, "I'm sure it will be fun when we find Arthur, George, and Ginny and get settled.

They trudged through the crowds, aiming for the hotel. When they reached the pool patio, familiar voices hailed them. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione rushed to embrace their long-sought companions, but Harry stood rooted, mouth wide open.

Decades later, when he was an old man, he still bored his children and grandchildren with the story of seeing Ginny in her lime green bikini, when he'd been terrified of never living in the same world with her. Even the girls, at first delighted with the romance, reached the point of rolling their eyes and saying, "Ew, he's gonna tell us about Grammy again."

Harry thought his gasp was as loud as a wind tunnel until he realized that Mrs. Weasley and Ron participated too.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! Whatever are you doing in that…that…"

"Swimsuit, Mum. Everybody wears one on the beach." Ginny's smile was blinding.

Mrs. Weasley turned on her husband. "Arthur, how could you let her?"

Mr. Weasley, clad in a fearsome Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts, nodded his head. "Well, she is correct, Molly. I looked about, and all the young women do seem to be wearing something similar. Our goal was to blend in, you know. We mustn't upset the Muggles."

"So you admit it! Ogling young women as soon as I'm away for a few minutes!"

"Has it been just a few minutes?" Ron asked George, whose outfit was just as bizarre as their father's, his mournful demeanor in sharp contrast with the fuchsia hibiscus on his shirt.

"Maybe an hour or so," George mumbled.

"Thank goodness!" said Hermione. "But how did you work everything out?"

Ginny sighed and pulled on the beach coverup that she'd been carrying over her arm. It didn't slow down Mrs. Weasley's harangue at all. "I knew Mum would act like this. Well, Hermione, you weren't real subtle in your questions about our favorite vacations and so on. When you didn't show up, I figured something with the portkey went wrong. So I asked at the hotel if they knew of you. They showed us to the rooms you reserved and explained how to charge food and clothes. We figured you'd show up soon."

Mrs. Weasley switched topics. "So you weren't worried at all! And we've been lost for a week in a very strange version of the nineteenth century."

The whole story came out in pieces as they walked to the hotel. Everybody except Harry talked at once. He smiled as the familiar Weasley chaos, comfortable and warm as a blanket, cradled him. Over a room service feast, they stitched more stories together, made plans to bring the rest of the Weasley tribe (currently at Bill's house), and admired purchases and souvenirs. Everyone admired Harry's dragon reference, but he kept the bag of jewelry in his pocket. Of course, it wasn't something he wanted to give to Ginny in front of her family.

"It's almost like magic, this business of signing your room number to get things," marveled Mr. Weasley.

"But it isn't, is it?" Ron asked Hermione later as they, Harry, and Ginny made their way to the beach for a nighttime stroll. "At some point, you have to give them real money, don't you?"

"Yes, when we leave, but it's nothing to worry about," said Hermione, trying for a light tone as she exchanged a look with Harry, who made a thumbs up gesture to let her know that he was still her partner in Project Vacation.

"I may be the dumbest Weasley, but I know better than that," said Ron, still pursuing. "And you sent your parents off to Australia. So you don't have their support any more. Where are you getting this money?"

"Yes," said Ginny with a bright smile. "Where?"

Hermione lifted her chin. "It isn't polite to ask about a gift."

"We all thank you very much," said Ginny with a smirk. "But we still want to know."

"Well, Harry's helping. That is, if Bill knows how to convert wizard gold to Muggle money," hedged Hermione.

"We all know Harry could buy the moon," said Ron. "Where's your money coming from?"

"Really, Ron, that's a personal question." Hermione quickened her step.

"Too personal for your husband-to-be?" He lengthened his stride to catch up to her.

Ginny squealed with surprise and slapped a hand over her mouth.

"If you must know—" Hermione stopped and turned to face him. "I altered my parents' memories so they'd forget they had a daughter—and that they'd saved all their lives to give her a nestegg for her education and getting established. It came to me on my eighteenth birthday, exactly as they intended."

"Your education?" Ron's voice squeaked higher than Ginny's. "You took your education money and spent it on sweets on the beach for me? My family? My whole, entire, enormous family?"

Hermione, embarrassed, traced in the sand with one foot. "I'm sure it was way more than I need. It's not like I couldn't get a scholarship or a job, if I have too. Plenty of people start their adult lives with nothing at all…Yes. I did. I am. Because I love you. All of you. And nobody should have to endure what you did. All of you. I'd give anything to bring Fred back, to heal Bill and George, and everyone's heart, and all I can do is..." Brushing a hand across her eyes, she turned away.

Ron caught her and threw his arms around her. Harry guided Ginny closer to the water. Ginny snickered when they caught each other peeping over their shoulders at the other couple.

It was late enough that most of the revelers were gone to bed. Harry was sorry, in a way: they would have been a distraction at least, giving him something to talk about. As it was, he felt like he had a sock in his mouth, choking back his words.

After a long while, Ron and Hermione let go and walked down the beach, heads together, close enough that they looked like one person. Their laughter drifted back as their wands came out, first drawing lights in the sky, then shooting out Patronuses. First a Jack Russell Terrier scampered across the waves, followed by an undulating otter. More terriers and otters followed, the dog sleeker, more graceful. The otter grew wiry fur and a chunky body, until there was no telling them apart.

Harry longed to get his wand out too. So many days without magic was like those painful summers between Hogwarts years. But now he wanted a different magic.

Just being by water with a brought back all the long walks by the Hogwarts Lake, even though this water was different—waves rumbling rather than lapping, salty breeze, and sand that gave under their feet, the memory was still sharp enough to keep him silent. He fingered each piece of jewelry in its bag one last time before pulling the it from his pocket and shoving into Ginny's hands. He bit his lip when she looked confused. He couldn't think of what to say, except what he'd told her mother. So he said that, his voice creaking and squeaking. She looked down, her red hair falling in a curtain over her face. She could have been examining the necklace in her hand.

She hates green, thought Harry. Or pearls. Or both. He said, "Really. I just wanted to give you a gift because I never had the chance to—and I always wanted to. Don't think that—I mean, I know you don't know what you want to do next. _I_ don't know what I want to do next. I'm not trying to…"

The red hair waved from side to side. Her voice choked on the words. "Harry, I understand. You don't have to say anything. I don't know why you ever liked me. I am so, so ordinary!"

"Ginny! No! You're the most special girl ever. The bravest, kindest, sweetest, prettiest—everything good. You want to to see ordinary? That's me, nothing special about me but my mother loved me, just like most mothers, just like yours loves you. Only your mum didn't have to defend you from the world's evilest wizard, and you weren't tangled up in a prophecy that could have applied to any other witch born around the same time as you were."

Ginny looked up, now the fierce warrior of only a few weeks ago. "I think prophecy and all that divination stuff is a crock. I wouldn't believe anything Sybill Trelawney said, no matter what."

The ends of Harry's lips trembled upwards. "Me either, from now on!"

Now he was dizzy with words, words that couldn't come out fast enough. "Special—you always were and always will be. Maybe it's stupid to buy you something to show you that, but I didn't know what else to do, and when I thought I'd never see you again, I so wanted to go back and make sure you knew."

Ginny looked away as she held up the necklace. In the dark, the black pearls a!l but disappeared, leaving the peridots seeming to sparkle by themselves in mid air. "Mum will say this is too expensive for a gift."

"She won't, because she was with me when I bought it. She even helped pay for it, with all the beading."

"That's why you became a dragon's secretary? To buy me a present?" Ginny's brown eyes widened. She held the necklace on her chest to see how it would look.

"Yes. Let me fasten it for you." His fingers tingled as he touched her shoulders.

After Ginny pulled her hair to one side, Harry fumbled with the clasp, never having done the task in his life. He was better with the bracelets, and Ginny set the comb in her hair with no trouble. They decided not to try the earrings in the dark, when it would be too easy to lose them in the sand. Harry hesitated before putting the ring on her finger. That gesture seemed too full of meaning. But after all, he'd gladly embrace all the meanings. But he reminded himself of his promise to Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny had to curl her fingers to keep the ring on. He'd never noticed how slender they were, how they seemed too delicate for hurling herself about on a broom or any of the feats of strength he'd seen her do.

"I'll get it adjusted," he said. "It is pretty big; I wore it on my pinky at the opera."

Ginny smiled and pulled the ring off her finger. She took his hand and slipped it on his little finger. "You keep it for now. I like both of us having some of the set."

Harry smiled at her and held her hand. He wanted to remember this moment forever, with the waves lapping behind him, a lone gull cawing, the moon heavy and yellow in the sky, and Ginny, her unruly red hair twirling in the wind as she continued the first deep smile he'd seen since he'd returned to Hogwarts. Sadness still lurked in her eyes, but he knew happiness was possible someday for both of them.

"Good idea," he said. "I'll keep the ring for now, until we can make the set complete again." He put his arm around her shoulders, and she laid her head on his. He savored how easy it was to walk with her as they approached Ron and Hermione, and decided that he'd believe it as an omen, just this once.


End file.
